


Blood and Wine reinvented

by mrterzieff_godefroy



Series: Cat Eyed Bat [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Mates, Slow Burn, blood and wine, oblivious Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:12:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 60,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10040684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrterzieff_godefroy/pseuds/mrterzieff_godefroy
Summary: The ending of Blood and wine could have beed avoided. So I threw some people from our world in to set it right. I'm bad at writing descriptions and this is my first fanfic and basically a re-telling of Blood and Wine, so if you haven't played the game, it should still make some sense. (Recently underwent re-writing)





	1. The Beast of Toussaint

Geralt had been summoned to Beauclair by Her Illustrious Highness, Anna Henrietta to stop the killings of the Beast of Beauclair. So far no monster he thought of was making sense. Attacking in the middle of the city, no witnesses, in elaborate fashions... He was a trained, professional witcher. He was the most famous witches of this day and age. Yet none of this was making any sense to him. Well that was probably due to the fact that his mind kept drifting off.

He had had a pretty wild ride these last few years. Ciri became a witcher, the boy he’d trained years ago, Cas, had shown up out of the blue from Skellige to help him defeat the wild hunt. He seemed to appear whenever trouble was afoot and there was no doubt in Geralt’s mind that he would turn up in Toussaint. Be there to make sure everything goes smoothly. All he had to do was look out for bits of parchment on trees, notice boards, or signposts, because if he was here and couldn’t be there to tell Geralt what was happening, then he’d find a way. 

They arrived in Toussaint, near the Cockatrice Inn. They rode at a walking pace beneath a slowly swaying tree. The breeze was cool, though the sun was out and beaming on the fairy tale land before them. “Toussaint – the land of love and wine!” Announced Milton in his heavy accent.

  
“Exactly how I remembered it.” Geralt sighed. He looked up at Mount Gorgon, basking in its magnificence for a moment. They rode past some peasants tending to bee hives. The place still felt so peaceful, even after all these years. 

  
“You’ll find Beauclair has changed some these past years. Walk about when you have the chance. You will see for yourself.” Palmerin added.

  
“To me, place always seemed straight out of a fairy tale. Knights-errant, elven palaces…” Reminisced Geralt.

  
“Do you insinuate that we are somehow odd? I shall prove you wrong! This I pledge on the heron!” Milton pledged, turning around in his saddle to glare at the witcher in disbelief. Geralt found Milton’s pledge ridiculous.

A knight riding a horse at break-neck speed caught Geralt’s eye. The knight threw a spear onto the ground and drew his sword. He was obviously fighting something, but Geralt couldn’t see what, that is, until the giant smashed through the nearest windmill. The knight's horse threw him, sending him crashing to the ground. He rolled out of the way of the windmill as the giant broke free, sending bits of building flying everywhere. A chunk of windmill hit the ground in front of Roach, spurring Geralt to ride ahead, leaning forward in the saddle, eager to fight the giant. The giant threw the knight's horse out of his way and the knight clambered to his feet, scrambling for his sword. Geralt jumped off Roach and burst threw the gate, unsheathing his sword as he was walking. The witcher cast quen before leaping into battle, twisting and twirling out of the way of the giant's massive club. He felt bad for the elder knights who took many blows. They were not as nimble as they were in their youth, but still just as eager to fight, causing them to get hit with the brunt of the damage. Geralt sliced the giant's hip open, bringing the monstrosity to its knees. The young knight slashed its back as Geralt thrust his sword into the giant's chest. He breathed heavily as the giant collapsed, the last gasps of life leaving it. He sheathed his sword, turning to the young knight. “Big beast. Tackling it single-handed? None too wise.”

  
“Neither is love born of wisdom, witcher. So, Guillaume, out with it – which fair damsel inspired you to vow to kill that filth?” Milton demanded. 

  
“The most beautiful among them.” Replied Guillaume, staring into the giant's cold, dead eyes. 

  
“If he wishes to guard her name a secret, he need not reveal it.” Said Palmerin.

  
“You I do not know, sir, nor seem you a knight, yet still I am profoundly grateful, nay, indebted to you for your succour. This trophy, sir, is yours.” Guillaume said, addressing Geralt. Geralt was mildly annoyed. He is a knight. 

  
“A giant this close to human settlements? Strange.”

  
“That was no ordinary giant – his name was Golyat. Rumoured to have been a knight once, but one who broke his vows. For this, the Lady of the Lake transformed him into a wild giant and banished him into the Gorgon Hills.”

  
“So he came back down. Why?” Asked Geralt.

  
“Several times each year hunger chased him into the lowlands. Golyat had killed and devoured many shepherds. Guillaume’s hunt served a noble cause. At any rate, it’s a tale for more agreeable environs” Said Milton.

  
“I’ll take the trophy, why not. Could find someone who’ll pay to buy it. Put up a good fight against the giant. Got experience battling monsters?” Asked Geralt.

  
“None. In Toussaint, we mostly chase bandits. But I vowed I’d bring my heart’s champion the head of a monstrosity. As the famed Gottfried, known as the Giantkiller did.” Explained Guillaume.

  
“You don’t mean to hunt the Beast, I hope? The matters best left to Geralt.” Warned Milton.

  
“Another challenge awaits me. Yet if Geralt is to hunt the Beast, he ought to know – it’s struck again. The river surrendered a corpse. It washed up in the meander by the Cockatrice. Damien de la Tour’s guardsmen are there already, securing the area.”

  
“’Securing the area’? Better go there now before they trample any tracks, manhandle any evidence.”

  
“Set forth, then. I shall ride for the city to inform Her Gracious Magnificence that Geralt has arrived. We’ll meet later, near Guillaume’s tent at the tourney grounds. I shall take you then to see Her Grace.” Said Palmerin, walking off in the direction of his horse. Geralt watched him go and drew a dagger to take the giant trophy. 

  
As they were setting off for the Cockatrice Inn, Geralt spotted a piece of parchment. He took it off the tree, turning it around to see Cas' messy signature alongside an oddly detailed drawing of a nekker trophy. Geralt grimaced at that. The note read;  
‘There’s a handkerchief in the river where the body was found. There are anywhere from 3 to 6 scurvers on the shore. The body is at a local vineyard. The hooded woman is a bruxa. Make sure to drink some black blood. Ciao, Cas.’  
Geralt deduced that the note was pretty old. Maybe a few weeks or a month. He hoped the information wasn’t outdated. He pocketed the letter and mounted Roach.“Brave kid, Guillaume.” He said to Milton. 

“Palmerin oversaw his upbringing. Guillaume is his kin.” They rode in silence until they reached the Cockatrice Inn. 

“Can’t get used to the way you knights talk. Especially how you switch back and forth between flowery and, well, near normal.” Said Geralt

“We are knights-errant in the service of Her Gracious Magnificence. When we appear in her name or speak on her behalf, we are bound by tradition.” Milton explained. They finally made it to the river. “No one here. They must have removed the body already.”

“Let’s look around, make sure they didn’t miss anything.” Geralt investigated, and followed the tracks of the ducal guardsmen right into a scurver mob. Five scurvers attacked him.“Got guests. Be careful.” He watched as each scurver exploded into spikes. Once they were dead, he continued his analysis of the bank.“Anything taken by the current ends up in these shallows.”

  
“Yes. The stench is fierce.”

  
“Footprints, see them? And a rut made by the hull of a boat. Left recently, I’d say. Only blood-soaked scraps left of the victim’s clothing. Good quality cloth.”

  
“A wealthy victim, correct?”

  
“Looks it. Dragged some nets onto the bank, then cut them to untangle them. Lot of blood, so the corpse must’ve been cut up, quartered, maybe.”

  
“It’s likely they loaded the body parts onto a boat and sailed off.”

  
“Mhm. Gonna dive in, check the other nets.”

  
*

  
As Cas had said, there was a handkerchief stuck in the net. “Silk kerchief, monogrammed d.l.C. A noble’s accessory, clearly. Be nice to know where exactly the body is.” Geralt trudged out of the water towards Milton.

  
“What now?” The elderly knight asked. 

  
“This isn’t the site of the murder, we know that. Current brought the body here. Corpse got caught in the nets. Guardsmen pulled it out, put it in a boat and took it. Need to find out where exactly. I’d like to look at the corpse before it starts to decompose.”

  
“The inn – its patrons must have seen the guardsmen; which direction they took. We should ask there.” Geralt looked up at the inn’s balcony, it was swarming with people, thirsty for drama and gossip. One particular, hooded woman piqued his interest. Might be the Bruxa Cas mentioned. 

  
“Seems we’ve got ourselves an audience.” Geralt grunted. 

  
“You think this surprising? The locals will tell the children of children they do not have yet of the day a quartered corpse was pulled from the river.”

  
“One thing – found a handkerchief in the water. Monogrammed “d.l.C.” Mean anything to you?”

  
“De la Croix? It cannot be. Was it he the Beast slew?”

  
“Seems so. Knew him well?” Milton nodded.

  
“Long past. We were close friends, once, but our paths diverged. He was a man of extremes, standing by his companions no matter the odds, fighting his foes to the bitter end.”

  
“Foes – he have a lot of them?”

  
“He did, but I do not see what that has to do with he Beast. Ah, Geralt, you’ve struck a raw nerve. Memories of a time long past to which I’d rather not return now.”

  
“I understand. We can talk later. Let’s go to the tavern.”

  
“I shall have to leave you soon. Return to court.” Milton said as they walked towards the Cockatrice.

  
“Barely got back to Toussaint.”

  
“A knight in the service of Her Illustrious Highness knows no rest. In fact, I’d feared I would return too late to fulfill my duty. Yet it seems I’ve arrived in the nick of time. Once you have finished examining the corpse, be sure to report to Anarietta.”

  
“Anarietta?”

  
“Her Grace, the duchess. I forget myself at times. We address each other by our first names in privet. Never in Palmerin’s presence, however. He finds such familiarity offensive.” They walked up beside the tavern. “A watering hole for traders, smugglers, boatmen. But you will find no better crayfish chowder in all Toussaint.” They entered the inn, loudly. “By my troth! Could that be the musty scent of fresh pâté?”

“Naught else, Sir de Peyrac-Peyran. I see time has not dulled your senses.” Said a well-dressed noble sitting in the corner of the room.

“We would be honoured if you would join us. Your companion as well.” The second noble chimed in.

“But why do I not detect even a whiff of crayfish chowder?”

“No soup today, on account of there being no crayfish. I reckon you’ve not heard, but all I caught was a corpse! I awoke at the crack of dawn, as I do each day, but when I looked up, I beheld a blood red sky…” Said the innkeep. Geralt and Milton sat down at the table.

“This corpse is precisely why we’re here. For the man whom you’ve invited to join you at your table was summoned from a far-off land by Her Gracious Magnificence. He is tasked with tracking and killing the Beast.” Said Milton.

“We invited two men to join us, yet since Sir de Peyrac-Peyran in temperament is more akin to hare than hound, I surmise the other is the hunter. With whom do we have the pleasure?” The first noble asked.

“Name’s Geralt.”

“A humble introduction. You’ve clearly not tarried long with Sir de Peyrac-Peyran.”

“Spare us the petty insults. Geralt is a master of the witchering trade. He has questions concerning the Beast’s last victim.”

“I was the one to find the corpse.” The innkeep stated. “The sun had just risen when I awoke, sat up in my bed, looked out the window and beheld a sky red as blood - -” This was clearly rehearsed.

“Ask, Geralt, please. Or we shall be here till winter.” Milton urged.

“Must’ve been early in the morning. Went to check the nets and then…?”

“I stepped out of my hut and saw…”

“By my troth! To the point, man! You found a body ensnared in your crayfish nests. We know this already. What happened then?” Said Milton, losing his patience. “Did you see anyone nearby? Did you spy anything noteworthy? Anything at all?”

“Not a soul around, just me. As for noteworthy… hmm… well…”

“What did you see? But be warned – if I hear the sky was red again…”

“I saw… a head bobbing – eyes bulging, the tongue blue and popped out. Next to it, a hand rocking upon the water.”

“Get a good look at the body parts?” Asked Geralt.

“They gave me such a fright, I bolted to town fast as my legs would take me, then returned with guardsmen who told me to keep out of their way. They had a hard haul. The parts were so tangled up in my nets, they were forced to cut them.”

“Need to examine the body. Know where exactly they took it?”

“The ferried it across, then loaded it on a cart and hauled it to a cellar at Corvo Bianco. To keep it cool, see.” This still didn’t answer Geralt’s question.

“What? Why, Corvo Bianco is Baron Rossell’s estate! When he learns they’ve turned his cellar into a morgue, he’ll set his hounds on them!”

“While you were gallivanting about in the North, his vineyard was auctioned off.” Said one of the nobles. Geralt saw, out of the corner of his eye, a hooded woman leaving. Geralt thought before that it may be the bruxa, but after his medallion humming, he was sure. Might pay to ask after her.

“Who was that? Woman who just left? Didn’t see her before, didn’t notice her walk in, either.”

“Doubtless Linnice – the innkeep’s daughter. But hold, Geralt, because this is an outrage. Rossell’s vineyard was auctioned off? Inconceivable!” Exclaimed Milton.

“It is no secret the baron had gambling debts up to his ears. It finally came time to collect – his creditors auctioned off his property. The Ducal Chancellery bought it, in fact. Rossell now bunks with his brother in Vicovaro.”

“I told Rossell he’d get his comeuppance. How long can one draw on past heroics?! His creditors must finally have divined that his promises meant nothing.”

“Such are the times. Today’s knights are pale shadows of the heroes of yore.”

“It’s true what they say – god sent the Beast to punish us for straying from the old paths!” Said the innkeep.

“So folk think the Beast’s divine punishment.” Deduced Geralt.

“Knights have turned their backs on the old customs. Where they were defenders of the duchy, they’re now defenders of their own tushes…”

“Why you insolent…!” Milton started.

“Let him talk.”

“The duchess trades in titles, grants honours to ill-doers. We’ve strayed from the path of virtue, lost the gods’ favour, so the gods sent retribution.”

“Don’t listen to that nonsense, Geralt. It’s rehashed street preacher codswallop.” Said Milton.

“Yes, the rabble-rousers have been sprouting up like weeds lately. Each offering the same bill of goods.” One of the nobles added.

“They say anything else about the Beast? Besides it being a messenger of the gods.” Geralt turned his attention back to the innkeep. 

“The Toussaintois are no fools. They see clearly the Beast kills on days honouring patron saints.” The first noble said slowly. 

“Picky monster. Thanks for the hospitality. Time I examined the corpse.” Geralt got up to leave. 

“Corvo Bianco lies a short way from here, near the tourney grounds. Just follow the road and you’ll arrive.” Finally, some proper directions.

“Not coming with…? Oh yeah, duty of some sort calls.”

“’Some sort’ – hah! Her Grace bestowed a great honour on me even before we departed for Velen. I’m to play the Hare during this year’s game in the palace gardens. When you see me in my costume, you will wet yourself laughing.”

“A little tempted to ask a few questions, but it sounds like a long, complicated story. One involving lengthy digressions into local history and tradition… So, see you later, Milton. And good luck.”

*

Sounds of fighting, clanging armour and panicked horses, rushed Geralt's sensitive ears as he neared Corvo Bianco. The garden was awash with blood, guards slain everywhere. It seems the bruxa had beat him there. Some were still alive, one man crawled up the stairs, breath laboured and legs twisted unnaturally. He collapsed at Geralt's feet, hacking up one last spurt of blood into the dust. Geralt sidestepped the man and followed the trail of blood into the basement. He flattened his back to the wall and quickly downed some Black Blood. He grimaced at the taste and tightened his grip on his silver sword. Slowly, he approached the bruxa who seemed to have taken an interest in one of the hands.  
“You. Saw you at the inn. I know what you are. Don’t know why you killed these people, though. Clearly wasn’t for their blood... We don’t have to fight.”

“You are wrong.” She locked the gate to the cellar. “I cannot let you leave.” Her corporeal form changed, hardened. She lunged at Geralt, disappearing mid air. Geralt dodged and spun, managed to hurt the bruxa a bit too. He feigned a dodge and she bit him, immediately she was poisoned, her body burning her from the inside out. She scrambled onto the ground, tearing at her own throat as if attempting to wrench the poison from her body. Geralt watched her last desperate movements and sheathed his sword.  _I won_ he thought as he downed some swallow. Bleeding out was the last thing he wanted to do right now. He could finally examine the body. He noticed that the head was raised and a note was placed just under it. The letter was from Cas. It read;  
_‘One of these pieces is not like the others. I don’t know about you, but last time I checked, humans don’t have three hands. Also don’t put it in your back pocket, it can still feel. -Cas’._ Geralt quickly examined the body.

  
“Ugh. Stinks. Water-logged, both hands amputated. Body was quartered, just as I thought. Laid in the water for some time. Head’s swollen, and something took a few bites out of it. Hm. Something in the throat. A pouch. Bulging with coins. Nilfgaardian florens… from several different provinces. If the murderer did this, means we’re dealing with a sentient, thinking beast. Body was chopped up after death. Blows struck with great force, but bones sliced through, not crushed. Creature that killed him had long claws, sharp as a witcher’s blade. First sank its claws into the victim’s heart. No bruxa did this. Third hand. One Cas mentioned. A spare? Clearly not the victims. Guardsmen must’ve not noticed it as they picked everything up. How’s this possible? Still warm. Blood’s still flowing? Several monster species can regenerate. Never heard of that happening to their severed limbs, though. Or of their limbs seeming completely alive after so much time. Examine the tissue more closely later. Might learn something. So murderer was clearly a monster, but not a bruxa. But then why’d the bruxa come here for the severed hand? And who does the hand belong to? Why the hell’s it still warm? Now, pouch shoved down the victim’s throat – what’s the significance? And why was he chopped up into pieces? Lots of questions, no answers so far. Need to know about the other victims. I’ll ask Palmerin to get me in to see the duchess.” He pocketed the letter but took the hand with him and put in in roach’s saddle bag, forgoing his pocket. He didn’t want a hand from some unknown stranger groping his butt. 

  
*

  
Geralt found no letters for a while, but his day way nothing if not eventful. He fought a Shaelmaar, talked with the duchess, fought some guy over a unicorn, Milton died and now he’s chasing a higher vampire through the streets of Beauclair. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. Well maybe he thought all higher vampires were like Regis, humanitarian. He thought about all the pictures of Regis that Cas doodled in the books about vampires. There was something vaguely amusing about reading up on black blood only to have a picture of regis vomiting next to the recipe. He snickered to himself. Guilt seeped low into his stomach as he remembered that Regis was dead. He grit his teeth and forced himself to be back on task. Geralt followed the vampire into an old warehouse. He crouched low, drawing his sword and sneaking through the door. 

  
“I’m here” The vampire said, peering down on Geralt from his perch. The witcher straightened up.

  
“This belong to you, maybe?” Geralt held up the severed hand.

  
“It did. But you may keep it. I’ve a new one. I do not know you. I’ve done you no harm. Yet first you butchered a bruxa who was dear to me. Now you pursue me. Why?” The vampire appeared genuinely confused as if he hadn't gone on a killing spree worthy of an enraged witcher.

  
“You’ve killed four innocent people. At least.” Geralt pointed out.

“And you? How many innocents have you cut down?”

“Not here to talk about me.”

“Yet that is exactly what we are doing. So, did they send you after me? Who are they?”

“What do you mean, ‘they’? Duchess hired me. You’ve been murdering her subjects.”

“Hmhmhmhm, is it as simple as that? I would ask you to convey to the duchess that I’ve but one victim left, but… You’ll not get the chance.” The vampire said dramatically, releasing his claws. He lunged at Geralt, disappearing into fog and reappearing behind the witcher to slash at his back. Geralt dodged and mentally cursed. This was not going to go well.

*

This wasn't the first time Geralt had almost died, but damn it was close. He thought his life was going to be over. The vampire raced towards him, claws extended. He braced himself for impact, but it never came. He heard a voice though, one that he hadn’t heard for a very long time and for a moment he thought he'd reached heaven. 

“You were to stay where you were. Regenerate.” The vampire grunted through his fangs. 

“I know you’re in trouble. I can help.” Geralt looked up. There was no way. None. Regis was alive. 

“I’ll help myself.”

“No. He’s mi- my friend.” It seemed for a second that Regis stumbled over the word, but Geralt quickly dismissed it.  
The black haired Vampire disappeared, leaving a giant, gaping wound in Regis’ chest. It quickly knitted itself back together. 

“Yes, Geralt. It’s me.”

“Regis! You alright?” 

“All is well, all’s in order. Wounds such as these heal on vampires in moments. But we’ve not seen one another in ages, my friend. At least in human terms, that is.”

“How’s this even possible? Last I saw you…”

“I was a bubbling, shapeless smear, having been rather spectacularly melted into the column of a certain castle.” Geralt would never admit it, but he threw himself into the hug, trying desperately to convey all the relief he felt that Regis was alive. However, he was a witcher and emotions were still a very treacherous ground for him. So getting all that across in just a hug was not going to happen. Cas just insisted that he needed to learn and practice expressing his emotions because he knew that they where there. He insisted that witchers do have emotion but no one taught them how to use them. Geralt agreed with his opinion on the matter because sometimes he did feel very strongly. He just didn’t know how to articulate such abstract things. 

“In somewhat better shape now, as you can see." Regis mused, stepping back. "Hardly peak form, mind you, but were I human, folk would think me a demigod, I daresay.”

“I’m sorry. What happened – it was my fault. Never got a chance to apologise.” Geralt shook his head and evaded the vampire's eyes. 

“No need, Geralt. Bygones. I did not have to join you on that expedition. No one twisted my arm.” Regis sat down on a nearby crate.

“Miraculous regeneration – how’d you manage it?”

“I had help. From the one you hunt.”

“Him? How? And what have you been doing all these years?” The witcher asked.

“Not the time nor place for such stories. I suspect we’ll get a chance to speak at ease and at length later. Now, however, we must deal with the reason that brought us both here”

“So you being here, it’s no coincidence…”

“Your powers of deduction seem to have waned no one bit, I’m happy. I came here for Dettlaff. I fear he’s become entangled, landed himself in serious trouble.”

“So that’s his name? He’s your… friend?”

“You might call it that. Though Dettlaff is… how would you humans put it… more bestial than I am. But not to worry, I’m working on him.”

“Haven’t exactly done a great job with that. He’s killed one knight since I got here, least three others before I arrived.”

“For good reason, I’m sure. Understand, Dettlaff is not some decadent shit who kills for sport or to assuage a dryness of throat or a dullness of mood.”

“So in your opinion, what’re his reasons?”

“Precisely what I wish to find out. And then I will convince him of the error of his ways.”

“Got a lot of faith in the guy.”

“Despite appearances to the contrary, you two are quite alike. You’ve both noble hearts yet you both are wont to perform ignoble deeds – when circumstances force you to, of course... Remember the year 964?” Regis walked over to the window.

“That was three centuries ago…”

“Blind fear gripped Rivia, Lyria and Spalla. Women and children were dying, their mutilated, dismembered corpses littered the fields.”

“Brute of Lyria – read about it. Chewed up almost two hundred, then fell to a common poacher supposedly armed with a dagger blessed by some prophet…”

"It fell to Dettlaff. Who then found a poacher asleep in the brush near his snares and dropped the fiend’s corpse at his feet. And thus, a legend was born.”

“Hm. Vampires rarely help humans. Must’ve had his own agenda, hunting the beast.” Geralt deduced.

“You err. He slew it for one reason alone – the monster killed a lad who once, in the street, had offered Dettlaff an apple, expecting nothing in return.”

“Terribly noble of him.”

“You do not have a monopoly on altruism, my friend. Vilgefortz melted my body. Dettlaff found what was left. As per out codex, he had a choice – to leave me where I was, or to care for me, nurture my remains. He chose the latter. Regenerated me at no small expense in his own blood. Do you know what that means to a vampire, the gravity of the endeavour?”

“Probably same thing it means to a human. You owe him your life.”

“Much more than that. The act itself made us blood brethren, a bond so strong humans cannot even imagine. Which is why I know something ill is afoot.”

“Always had an overdeveloped sense of empathy.”

“Each vampire has a unique talent. One they hone over centuries. It’s precisely what renders us so difficult to classify. Dettlaff’s trump card is his herd instinct, his tribal propensity. In point of fact, he prefers the company of lesser vampires and shuns that of humans. If he walks among you, killing egregiously, it can only mean something’s upset him. Immensely.”

“Anything specific, some set of things that’d be likely to set him off?”

“How should I say this… Dettlaff doesn’t understand men, their world, its rules, its conventions. He’s naïve, in a sense. He doesn’t comprehend your games, knows not what it means to lie, deceive.”

“Suggesting he’s maladjusted… and venting his rage?”

“I’m suggesting maladjustment can at times breed conflict. But is it the case this time? I cannot say… but intend to find out.”

“Gotta find him. Before something upsets him even more and all Beauclair is awash with blood.”

“Well, we share a cause, then. Just like the old days…”

“Not entirely. I mean, when I find him, you know…”

“I know you’ve a contract on his head. Yet your true task is to stop the Beast killing, not necessarily to kill the Beast, am I right?”

“All in all, sure.”

“Let us find him. By the time we do, I hope I’ll have convinced you Dettlaff is no monster.”

“Fine, all right already. But for now, evidence is stacking up against him…” The sound of hooves and clanking armour drew them from their conversation. 

“Hear that?” Asked Regis.

“The posse. Knights must’ve tracked me here.”

“I’d prefer they not find me here. I’ve makeshift quarters at Mère-Lachaiselongue cemetery. We’ll meet there”

“See you.” Regis disappeared into a puff of mist and made his way out the top window, just before Palmerin burst through the door with the rest of the posse.

“Witcher! We flew here as fast as our coursers would carry us. Yet I fear we’re late all the same! Pray, where is the Beast?!”

“Still investigating, about to inspect this site. Withdraw your men before they trample all over the evidence.”

“Ahem, sirs! We must let the witcher do his work. Milton’s murder cannot go unavenged.” The knights left Geralt to his defenses.


	2. La Cage au Fou

Geralt wandered to the cemetery in a daze. He, stupidly, trusted Roach to take him there. (They ran into a bear which prompted Roach to buck him off and leave him to fend off the bear himself.). Geralt's mind raced with questions: How could Regis be back? And looking weirdly like those drawings, not that the drawings were good, but the mutton chops were spot on. If Cas knew he was alive then why didn’t he tell him? Probably another ‘fixed point in time’ thing. As he was nearing the cemetery, he heard singing. All this thinking about Cas and no sleep has brought about hallucinations. The song felt vaguely familiar and he tried to place the words. 

“Give me a shot to remember,   
and you can take all the pain away from me.   
A kiss and I will surrender.   
The sharpest lives are the deadliest to lead.   
A light to burn all the empires,   
so bright the sun is ashamed to rise and be.   
In love with all of these vampires,   
so you can leave like the sane abandoned me!” 

That was definitely Cas. Geralt knew he’d turn up eventually. But why now? And singing about vampires near Regis’ lair? At least Cas had kept his sense of humour. Singing about vampires wasn't strange since he is mostly vampire himself anyhow. Ever since the trial of the grasses, where he accidentally absorbed a higher vampire mutagen and it changed him almost completely. He’s no longer human. But he is a witcher, one that can kill higher vampires, so that’s enough for Geralt. “Last time you sang that song; we were fighting an ekkimara.” Geralt announced his prescence. 

“You’re here! Finally, I’ve been dying to go in there.” Cas hopped down from the top of the mausoleum, landing gracefully on the ground. He walked up to Geralt and gave him a slightly awkward hug, their medallions poking them in the chest. 

“Where have you been?” Asked Geralt.

“All over. Went to Skellige again found a witcher by the name of, uh, Bryan. With a 'y'. Told me that at least three times when I first met him... He’s from my world and so we started going on a mission to find the rest of our friends who also fell through portals to different witcher schools. Part of the experiment.” Cas explained.

“What school?”

“Bear. Now c’mon. Regis is waiting." Cas nudged Geralt teasingly. "I could poof through the keyhole but there are some Kikkimores in his basement so I figured we could do him a favour.” 

“Why’d you wait for me to go in?” Geralt asked.

“Because I knew you’d get here eventually. Also because it’s a little awkward to idolise someone most of your life. Know almost everything about them, but they don’t know you. Most people call it stalking. But I just happened upon the information so its not.” 

“It’s stalking.”

“Yeah. Technically. But it’s not like I’ve been following him around. Well not as me, not in this world.” 

“So you've been using me to stalk him?" Cas bounced impatiently. "I get it. Come on.” 

*

The Kikkimores were hardly a challenge. With Geralt’s expertise and skill, and Cas’ knowledge, it went by smoothly. Their eyes shone bright as they walked out of the tunnel. Cas started getting excited, jumpy, as was common for the very young witcher when he remembered something, important or completely unimportant. “Oh! I just remembered! Can I borrow your eye of Nehaleni?”

“Why? What are you so excited about?” Geralt asked apprehensively. Last time Cas was this excited, he got them blown up. 

“Money.” Cas grinned.

“Mmk.” Geralt handed over the trinket, amused. Cas ran over to the wall and dispersed the illusion, running into the tomb and grabbing the sword off the grave. 

“Look how fucking fancy it is. You’d think you’d have it buried with you instead of on top of your grave. Protect it from no good grave robbers.”

“Like yourself?”

“A wild accusation. I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m just borrowing it. I fully intend to return it... after I sell it. And then steal it back from the merchant. Okay so you have a point.” Geralt huffed a laugh . 

“He’ll be fine. I’ll say a prayer for him or something. You’re forgetting who I used to be. Former archangel right here.” Geralt grinned as he remembered the mishap.

“That means nothing now, Cas. You’re a vampire witcher. How far have you fallen exactly?”

“Amusing.” Cas deadpanned. They walked into the main room to find Regis looking at Geralt as if betrayed by the presence of Cas. He quickly wiped the look off his face and greeted Geralt warmly. 

“Agreed to meet a vampire in a cemetery. How more cliché can you get?” Regis laughed.

“Nothing comes readily to mind.”

“Could have left the door unlatched.” Geralt whined.

“And what of my privacy. I value it rather deeply. Unmolested. Especially by unwanted guests. That’s my preferred state. Besides, I knew you’d find a way to get in.”

“True enough.” Regis looked at Cas.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No. We haven’t. Though I have heard a lot about you. I’m Cas, Geralt’s son.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something in your needlessly long introduction? How about an introduction to witchering and your race too?” Mocked Geralt. 

“If your want. I am also an honorary vampire, but I doubt I needed to tell you that.” 

"I was joking, Cas." Geralt explained.

“Honorary?” Asked Regis, leaning on the railing. 

“I’ll explain later. Even better, maybe Geralt can explain for me. I wasn’t exactly conscious when it happened.” Geralt glared at Cas and decided to put them back on topic.

“Need to find your friend. Hoping you’ll agree to help.” Geralt said bluntly. 

“Dettlaff van der Eretein.” Cas murmured, subtly trying to show off his knowledge. 

“Do you know him?” Asked Regis. Cas shook his head.

“We have no time for this, Cas. Can you pretend you don’t know?” Geralt growled.

“Fine.”

“How do you know if you don't mind my asking?” Regis looked for answers. The vampire then composed himself. 

“I shall do whatever is in my power. Yet what you want, or even need must matter little. What matters is what Dettlaff wants.” Geralt looked hurt for a second but retained his neutral expression. Things had been getting to Geralt lately, after Cas had told him to stop stifling his emotions because it was giving him a haemorrhage. 

“If he does not want to be found, you will not find him. Ever. End of story.”

“C’mon. Gotta be some way.” Cas said Geralt’s words for him and then sat silently and innocently on the floor next to the table.

"I'll never understand why you don't like to sit on seats. They're there to be sat on, Cas."

"Just liberating the two seats for the elderly. Can't blame me for being courteous." Cas stuck out his tongue at Geralt.

"That isn't as gentlemanly as you think it is." Geralt pointed out. Regis hummed in thought.

“Vampires can evade detection by the senses, and no divination magic works on us. Even the most precise megascope would be useless.”

“And this? Could this help?” Geralt placed Dettlaff’s hand on the table. 

“Dude!” Said Cas, covering his nose and leaping up from the floor. “That’s rank. What the fuck?” 

 “I don’t smell anything.”

“That’s because you’re a human.” Cas stated as he pulled a knife from his pocket. He lightly jabbed at Dettlaff's severed hand and watched with fascination as it made a fist. Geralt batted the knife away.

“Not entirely.”

“Human, with a shit load of mutagens. But still human, white-locks.”

“We've been over this. You have white hair. Therefore, you can't call me white-locks.”

“Fair point.” 

"I know. You said that last time. And the time before that an-"

“-Where ever did you get that?” Asked Regis, obviously startled.

“Off one of the beast’s victims. Found by a bend in the river. Body was chopped, in pieces. Three of those pieces were hands.” Regis went to pick up the hand. “Hand with the ring seemed the odd one out.”

“You got my note then? D’ya like the drawing?” Cas asked.

“Masterful, really.”

“I know.” 

“What drawing?” Asked Regis. 

“You - You don’t wanna see.” Regis looked confused, but quickly dropped it. Geralt shifted from side to side. Regis sniffed Dettlaff’s hand, rolling his head back, taking in the scent.

“It’s Dettlaff’s hand, without a doubt. It will do splendidly.”

“The hand. What do you plan to do with it?” Geralt inquired.

“You’ve heard of Covinarius’ theory of memory retention?” Geralt hummed.

“Rings a distant bell… Read about it in ‘Alchemia Oblittera.’ There’s an old copy at Kaer Morhen, tattered, nearly disintegrated.”

“Fully disintegrated now, actually.” Geralt looked at Cas. “That’d be my fault. I couldn’t read it I accidentally igni'd it. Don’t tell Vesemir. Please don't tell him. We also had a theory like that. Every cell contains memories. That would explain why people who have an organ transplant can sometimes end up acting like the organ donor.” Geralt shook his head and sighed.

“You're speaking gibberish again, Cas. If memory serves, Covinarius never managed to prove it worked.”

“He did prove it.” Regis said smugly. “Just never managed to publish his findings. He and I corresponded, you see, after we became friends. Thus I know he completed his research and performed the first tests. It’s complicated, so without delving into details, it is possible to use any piece of tissue to recreate what a whole body experienced.”

“How’s it work?” Geralt and Cas both looked equally intrigued. This filled Regis with a sense of pride.

“We need any special equipment?” Asked Cas, finishing Geralt’s sentence. Geralt had given up trying to make Cas stop with the habit after a while. It was just easier if he got it out of his system.

“We must brew a decoction which Covinarius gave a rather poetic name – Resonance. Once imbibed, it sends one into a trance similar to that induced by narcotics. This triggers visions of events linked to strong emotions experienced by the tissue’s owner. Picture it as dreaming a fragment of someone’s life.”

“Any chance we might see what Dettlaff was doing just before he lost his hand…?”

“Indeed. Though I also hope Resonance will reveal the location of Dettlaff’s hideout.” Cas obviously heard none of this, he didn’t need to.

“Ring’s pretty intriguing. Made of no metal I’ve ever seen. And the ornamentation…” He craned his neck to see it more closely.

“It comes from our home – where we lived before the Conjunction of Spheres. It’s actually mine. I received it from a dear old friend. You might call him a… humanist. He saw us, vampires, as guests here, guests that owe their hosts,” He nodded at Geralt, “meaning you humans, and the Elder Races, respect.”

“Respect? Meaning not to treat us like cattle to be slaughtered for food…” He looked at Cas pointedly. Cas groaned.

“Geralt, can you not. That was one time.”

“And you’re still jumpy around blood.” Cas looked away. Not making eye contact with either human, nor vampire. Regis also looked away, but smartly pretended it didn’t happen.

“Precisely. And the reason why I, in turn, gave it to Dettlaff – to remind him of the ideals my old friend championed.” Geralt thought for a moment.

“Can’t you just summon Dettlaff? You’re both higher vampires, there’s gotta be a way…”

“Yes, Geralt. And while we’re at it why don’t you summon Lambert. I’m sure he’ll just pop into existence right behind you.” Cas turned into mist and reformed behind Geralt.

“How the fucked I get here? Eskel, you fucking dick, save me!” Cas did a rather good impression of Lambert.

“Actually, Cas, if I’m to be entirely candid, there is indeed one. But believe me, we will be better off never availing ourselves of it. It is a last resort. Absolutely.”

“Last resort? The hell. Why?”

“Agh. There is a being who can summon Dettlaff. Possesses the authority, even the power, to force him to appear in a given place. But the very act of contacting this being, well, it’s akin to walking a slack line extended over a chasm filled with molten lava. An exercise as perilous to me as it would be to you – a risk I’m unwilling to take. I beg you, let’s do it my way – it’ll be both quicker and easier.”

“Well. I’d rather never have to meet, let alone fight the unseen elder.” Said Cas. Geralt looked confused. “There will be a time where you will find out. It is not that time.”

“Covinarius spent half his life proving his theory. Wild guess – making a dose of Resonance won’t be easy.”

“You guess correctly. In addition to Dettlaff’s tissue, we shall need a powerful occipital lobe stimulant – effectively a poison to make one susceptible to visions.”

“Hm. Well, got a few ingredients to choose from. Unfortunately, all are pretty rare… There’s mamune glands, but the closest ones I know of are in Vizima. A spotted wight’s saliva would also serve, but they were culled to extinction over a century ago. Could go with a kobold’s eyes, but the creatures are sentient – rather not gouge one’s eyes out.” Geralt rattled off the list and turned to Cas who looked away.

“If you know something, spit it out.” A look of great pain passed over Cas’ face.

“I- I... Fuck!” He doubled over in pain, hands frantically grasping at the back of his head. Geralt was shocked. In all his adventures with Cas, this never happened.

A long moment passed before Cas’ pain appeared to subside as he fell onto the ground.

“Fucking hell.” Cas gasped. He sat up, righting himself. "Ever have the time vortex kick you in the balls? I don't recommend it."  Regis raised a questioning eyebrow, and again dropped his urge to ask. _All in good time_.

“Hmm… Given that we lack the time to sleuth this out ourselves, permit me to summon some help.” Regis started towards the door. Cas followed closely behind, excitedly chattering about ravens and how he always wanted to have a pet one.

*

Once outside, Cas climbed a tree and started making his way over to an unkindness of ravens, while Regis simply talked to one already on the ground. Geralt was amused to see the contrast between the two vampires. The raven flew off and Regis made his way over to Geralt. They looked up at Cas who was trying to coax a raven over to him.“Cas is rather… odd… isn’t he?.” Whispered Regis to his witcher companion.

“Yeah. Got no idea where he gets it from.”

“I get the distinct impression that he knows what I’m going to say or do before it happens.”

“He does.”

“He does what?”

“Know. He knows everything before it happens. I’m guessing that’s why he doubled over earlier. He can’t tell anyone, he can say sentences, vague things, sometimes he can actually tell you what to do to get a good ending for everyone. But even then it's not much help. He calls it 'the most useless super power'.” Regis pondered this, scratching his chin. Cas interrupted his thought process.

“I’d like you to meet my new pet. Henna Junior.”

“Nice bird.” Said Geralt. Junior puffed out her feathers and stood up proudly on Cas' shoulder. 

“It’s a raven, Geralt. Rather common at this latitude. Very intelligent fowl. I asked mine to look for the creatures you mentioned. Him and his brethren. Perhaps they’ll find one in this area. And I would hazard that a flock of ravens will spy any said creature faster than a solitary witcher would – with all due respect to your skills, my friend.” Cas laughed.

“What do you say, Junior? You wanna help us on hunts?” Junior squawked and flapped her wings, hitting Cas in the back of the head.

“It will take them some time nonetheless-" Regis started.

" Mmhmm. Junior and her pals aren’t exactly priority mail deliverers.”

"So, Geralt – perhaps you’d care for a snifter of mandrake?” Regis shook the bottle he was holding.

“Rarely say no to a snifter.” 

“Sadly this is but a weak infusion rather than a proper distillate.”

“Even better. I remember your mandrake hooch. Made people say things they’d have rather kept to themselves.”

“Now what could Geralt of Rivia prefer to keep to himself?”

“I’m here for this, honestly.” Cas admitted. He perched himself on one of the headstones while Junior perched on the other. Regis looked at Geralt.

“Is Cas allowed to drink.”

“Technically, yes, but we don’t need another repeat of the Lambert incident.”

“Hey, the tutu finally came off, the pink washed out of Lambert’s armor, and Vesemir’s moustache grew back. What’s the big deal?” Regis laughed. “But yeah, none for me, thanks. I might be a happy drunk, but I can’t guarantee that your mutton chops will be there for long.” The collective giggled lightly while Geralt and Regis passed the bottle back and forth a few times.

“So, think you’ve set a nice little trap for me? Sorry. Wanna get me to confess? Gonna have to try harder.” Cas snickered, coughed, and then whispered something unintelligible. If you had been listening closely you would have heard a muttered “And here I thought flirting wasn't his strong suit.” Regis chuckled.

“I love a challenge. In that case, my ears are cocked – what must I do?” Cas snickered quietly.

"Cocked." He snorted. He took a deep breath. "I am a mature and sensible adult." Geralt shook he head at Cas. 

“Hm… How about you get the ball rolling, reveal one of your secrets? Vampires – intriguing creatures, must lead fascinating lives.”

“Don't you regularly travel with a vampire? You raised one, from what I gather.”

“He leads a more witcherly lifestyle... most of the time.”

“It’s true. I don’t actually know how to be a vampire.” Something in Cas' face told Regis otherwise.

“Hmm. Anything in particular interest you?”

“Always fascinated me the way vampires can regenerate. A hand growing back is one thing, but Dettlaff recreating you out of a wet smear? Something else entirely.”

“I’m sure Cas regenerates.”

“I do. Rarely had to taste Swallow. But I’ve never been so badly damaged that I’ve needed another vampire’s help.”

“Fair enough. It’s a difficult and laborious process, but one that’s possible – as my presence proves. But, but, but… I’ve heard you too had quite the adventure – they say you lost your memory.” Geralt was weirdly flattered that Regis had cared enough to keep tabs on his life.

“For a bit, but Triss helped me get it back.”

“I really don't like Triss.” Cas announced suddenly, a sneer lifting the corner of his mouth. 

“Why’s that?” Asked Regis.

“She wanted to experiment on me. See how it was possible that I’m both a higher vampire and a witcher. It appears that ethical considerations don't come into play with sorceresses.” Regis' eyebrows furrowed.

“Hmm. That certainly seems to be in line with their character, I must say. But continue, Geralt.”

“I’m actually pretty damn lucky I only had amnesia.”

“Yes, you humans are rather buggered in those terms. To strip you of your life is, well, just plain easy. I’ve always pitied you in that regard.” He took a swig from the bottle. “We vampires are much harder nuts to crack. If a member of another race kills one of us, we can be reborn with a living higher vampire’s help. However, if one of our own strikes the deadly blow, death is permanent. There can be no rebirth. One of the chief reasons why vampires long ago swore never to fight one another.” Geralt decided to change the subject.

“Got a new life, a new body. That give you a new start, a blank slate?”

“Starting all anew is a very broad concept. What exactly do you mean?”

“Your blood addiction, say. Wondering if your body’s the same, if it still remembers. Maybe if you drank now, you wouldn’t get hooked.”

“All addictions are a form of slavery. Re-addiction’s not a risk I’m willing to take just to test a hypothesis about corporeal regeneration and whether propensities carry over.”

“How are you ever going to take a mate then?” Cas enquired. Regis looked sheepishly at Cas, side eyeing Geralt.

“I believe I’m far too old for that.”

“You think? Geralt’s over a century old and he still hasn’t settled down. Yes that's me saying god damn it have a steady, healthy relationship for once, Geralt." Cas turned to the other witcher only to get a cold shoulder in return. "Okay stepped over the line, gotcha, sorry." He turned back to Regis."I get that you’re 400 and something, but where I come from we believe it’s never too late.”

“That’s a nice concept, Cas. If I ever find a mate, I’ll tell you. Besides. You’re meant to get addicted to your mate’s blood. So there’s no trouble there.”

“What’s all this about mates? Cas, I tried to tell you about this stuff, but all you wanted to do was train.”

“I was a child.”

“You were 18.”

“A toddler then.” Regis stated. “Anyway, to answer your question, Geralt, I will not be testing my luck.”

“Fair enough. Curiosity, that’s all. Sorry.”

“Not to worry, Geralt. Curiosity’s a natural reaction under the circumstances. Apart from which, I’ve always valued that trait in you.” Geralt had to fight the urge to blush, smile, and look away.

“Gotta ask you the big question, one everyone wonders about – what happens after death?”

“You wish me to tell you if the human belief in the gods is well founded. That I do not know. We vampires differ exceedingly from you humans. Our matter, that of which we are composed, can exist without form. We require neither a heart nor a brain nor air to breathe.”

“But were you dead?”

“As humans understand death – yes.”

“Feel anything? Understand anything?”

“Hm. It’s rather hard to explain. I felt something very unsettling. Something I cannot even name, for I did no reasoning. Only after rebirth did I begin to understand that what I had felt was cold and unimaginable fear. If not for Dettlaff, I might have drowned in an eternity of icy terror.”

“Can’t have been alive, then. Sheesh, experience like that must be vicious.”

“Hmm. Indeed.”

“You were in purgatory. Worse than hell in my opinion. God’s worst creation.”

“How do you know?” Asked Regis

“In my world we believed, well, some of us believed, in three places where you could go after death. Heaven – The place where all the good and righteous folk go. Hell – where all the evil and malicious people go. And purgatory - the place that ‘monsters’ went, or people that weren't quite bad enough to go to hell, but not good enough to go to heaven. It’s supposed to be an awful place.”

“It’s… it’s hard to compare to anything I know. Yet you are aware we don’t see death as you do. The way you cling to life - we find it entirely peculiar. You are mortals, ergo it’s a forgone conclusion - you will die. Its but a question of time. Thus I often find myself wondering why you try so very hard. To die at twenty years, forty, even a hundred - what’s the difference? They’re all but a blink of an eye.”

“Depends on your point of view. Man who’s got a million crowns to spend can’t possibly understand one who’s only got twenty.”

“Very true. One’s outlook can indeed change much.”

“Curious what you did after you were… reborn.”

“As I’m sure you can surmise, at first I was thoroughly absorbed with recovering. As it is, I’ve still not recovered completely. Yet I was so weak the first year that I could not stand nor move on my own. Dettlaff bore my weakness bravely, showed great patience. If not for him, I wouldn’t be here, and I’d have regenerated far slower.”

“You sound like a Timelord.” Said Cas.

“A what?”

“Never mind.”

“Well, once I could at last stand unassisted, I set off for Brugge, for my one-time home of Dillingen. There I led the peaceful life of a rural healer and surgeon, enjoying my neighbours’ respect and, in fact, constituting the exact opposite of the monstrous vampire the populace imagines.”

“Brugge, you say? Rebirth make you sentimental?”

“Perhaps a dash. But what of you? Where have you been? Ever find your Cirilla?”

“Back then, yeah. But we parted again soon after. And when the time was ripe, she came back. Defeated the wild hunt together. First time in ages the family’s been in the same place at the same time.” He looked at Cas.

“Yeah. Its weird to see your sister for the first time in almost forever on an enchanted island while she’s in a snow white coma. But it was nice when she woke. Miss she-wolf already.”

“Oo. Seems I certainly missed quite a bit while I was… absent.”

“True enough. But it’s a conversation we’ll have another time. All right, give you one question. What do you want to know?”

“One question to ask one as fascinating as you, Geralt? Cruel parsimony, I’d say. But I shall do my best to make it count.” Cas must have thought of something funny because he snickered. Regis and Geralt looked at him weirdly.

“Sorry. Every time I hear a vampire say count it sets me off.” He said, trying to contain his laughter. _I am a mature and sensible adult..._

“Why’s that?” Asked Regis, even more confused.

“You’re familiar with the tale of Count Dracula?”

“No, I don’t believe I am.”

“He’s a tale from my world. The original vampire. In the story a young lawyer arranges to meet him, but he is warned by the villagers that Dracula possesses supernatural powers and drinks blood. The villagers give the lawyer crucifixes and garlic to protect him for Dracula. Dracula then imprisons the lawyer in his castle. At first the lawyer thinks of Dracula as a kind, well educated, hospitable gentleman, but then he realizes that he is effectively a prisoner. He is attacked in the castle by three female vampires, best fitting the description of bruxae. The Count scares them off, claiming the lawyer as his. The lawyer is frightened by Dracula and tries to escape. I can’t remember how the rest of it goes but in the end Dracula dies at the hands of a human with a couple of knives.”

“That is the strangest and most inaccurate story I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah. I never read the story. Just heard about it. Can’t say it goes exactly like that. But its kinda funny if you picture Dracula as Dettlaff with his constantly grumpy face. Don’t forget the lisp.” Cas put his arm in front of his face and elongated his fangs. “I’m Count Drrraculah! Bleh-ble-bleh! I vant to zuck your blood!” Geralt laughed, Regis didn’t get it.

“Allow me to ask my question?”

“Shoot.”

“If you were to die and be reborn as I was… in your new life. Would you choose to be a witcher?”

“See, Regis…" Geralt took a long drink. "Doubt I’d know how to be anything else.”

“Ever tried?”

“See you’re determined to get an answer. To find out if I like being a witcher. Just refuse to ask directly, as always. I like being on the path. Like picking up a lead, a trail… I like the tension right before a fight. And nothing gets my adrenaline flowing like battling a beast. Even gotten used to people treating me like a freak, an outcast. Yeah. Not something I think about much, but I like being a witcher.” He passed the bottle back to Regis.

“Thank you for being honest. Honesty’s an attribute of the truly brave – and thus a privilege of the very few.” Geralt felt blood rush to his cheeks, but quickly got a hold of himself. It's not like he could truely blush anyway.

“No sign of your winged friend… Sure it understood what you wanted?” Junior squawked at Geralt and flew onto his head, digging her talons into his skin. Geralt batted Junior and she flew onto Cas’ shoulder. Regis laughed.

“Dead certain. Let’s wait a little longer. It’ll return soon, don’t doubt that for a moment” Geralt got up and looked between the grave stones.

“Imma take a nap.” He stated, sitting heavily down on the coffin he had previously vacated.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna take a leaf out of that Novigrad vampire’s book and sleep **in** the coffin.” Asked Cas.

“No. I’m just gonna sleep on top of it. Who do you take me for?”

“Someone who values warmth over personal hygiene.”

“True enough. I’m nowhere near as bad as Lambert, though.” Geralt got up and went to roach’s saddle bag, taking out a neatly folded duvet that Cas had helped him make years ago. He took out a small pillow as well. “I’m always prepared for a nap. Don’t judge me like that, Regis.” The vampire lowered his eyebrow as Geralt got comfy on the coffin and slowly drifted off to sleep. Regis continued to watch him. If any human saw this, they’d think that Regis was studying Geralt, the way he looks so intently at him. But Cas knew better. Regis was watching over him, watching him closely to make sure he is continuing to breathe.

“He’s not that old. He’s not just gonna stop breathing in the middle of his nap. I’d even go as far as to say that he’s pretty healthy. But Geralt's health aside, you need to tell him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Regis denied. Cas was not fooled.

“I can smell it Regis. Every vampire can smell it. It’s only a matter of time before someone else tells him and he gets mad at you for not telling him first.”

“You’re probably right. Who do you think would tell him?”

“Orianna? Dettlaff? Maybe me if the tension doesn’t die down. I think he knows, somewhere in there. And I think he’s okay with it. He has a secret. One that I promised not to share, but I know you won’t judge him for it. You probably deserve to know, anyhow.”

“Cas, whatever you’re going to say, don’t. You said you promised Geralt. I’ll not abuse his trust like that.”

“Fine. All I'll say is that he’s afraid. He needs someone to back him up and be there for him. I’m one person. I’m not enough. You should know. But I see your point. I’ll ask his permission or get him to tell you himself. In the meantime, you should work on a way to tell him… I’m going to take Geralt’s lead and get some shut eye. Think about it Regis.” Cas looked at Regis in the eyes, staring into his soul. He jumped down off the gravestone and went looking for a suitable place to rest. Regis knew he couldn’t hold off telling Geralt for much longer, and he’d be damned if anyone else were to tell Geralt. He smoothed out the duvet on top of Geralt absentmindedly. It was high time he told Geralt who he really was to him. His mate.

*

Geralt awoke to the sound of cawing. Regis’ bird must be back. Sure enough, Regis was conversing with a raven behind some gravestones. Geralt was silent as he watched the raven fly away. However, Regis still noticed he was awake.“Ever vigilant, even in his sleep. Quite vampire-like, in fact. Are you absolutely sure they don’t administer a few of our genes during the Trial of the Grasses?”

“Appreciate the compliment, but not in my Trial, not as far as I know.” Geralt looked around for Cas. He was in a tree.

“If you wish me to tell my life story then we’ll have to wait. But in my trial yeah. Almost all the genes I got were vampire.” Cas confessed. He leapt down from the tree and landed near Regis.

“Is that what you meant by honorary?”

“Yeah. I was human once. There has always been a question of my race. Am I human? Am I vampire? So I usually just go by my profession. Its good enough.” Regis nodded in understanding.

“Got something for me?” Asked Geralt, addressing Regis.

“You were right. No kobolds or mamunes – for miles around…“

“Knew it.”

“Allow me to finish. You see, there’s this spotted wight. It haunts an abandoned residence in the Caroberta Woods.”

“Impossible. My brethren hunted down every last spotted wight before I was born.”

“Then it seems you must revise your knowledge of spotted wights. For somehow this one managed to escape your brethren’s onslaught. Hm. Seems I know this home it haunts – I recall a tale about it… Locals believe the place cursed. Perhaps that’s how the wight survived, entirely unmolested…”

“Hm. Know anything about the curse?” Asked Geralt.

“I don’t recall much in particular. Really don’t attach much importance to such things. It was mentioned to me as an anecdote, no more…”

“None shall sit and dine at your table, no spoon you have shall sate you, never again shall you wish to spy your reflection in the mirror.” Cas said. Again they looked at him, bemused. “The curse words.” He stated, shrugging.

“I’m not even going to ask anymore.” Said Regis. Geralt hummed. “What are your thoughts?”

“A specimen of a species thought long-extinct… and a curse – in one place. That a coincidence, or are they related?”

“Ah. Professional curiosity. Personally I’ve nothing against you delving into this dilemma, but please remember we need the spotted wight’s saliva. Nothing beyond that.”

“Wights rarely appear in the woods, even less likely to find them in abandoned human homes. They inhabit wildernesses, old, abandoned cemeteries…”

“What’s your point?”

“This might no be a spotted wight after all. Your little helper might’ve made a mistake.”

“I sincerely doubt it. Ravens are devilishly intelligent creatures. And they’ve highly developed observational skills.”

“What exactly did they observe?”

“The area around the estate, its covered in… spoons.”

“Spoons?”

“Spare me the skeptical smile. I’m but the bearer of this news. Perhaps the spotted wight is a hoarder? Or the spoons are somehow related to the curse?”

“Were either of you listening? No spoon you have shall sate you. Of course it’s related to the curse.”

“What happened to your patience, Cas?”

“Give me a break. I just woke up.”

“Let’s do this – start making your decoction while I go get some saliva from the wight. Uses it in it’s brews.”

“Do you imagine the wight will simply sell you some?”

“Worst case scenario. I’ll bring you its salivary glands. They oughta do as well.” Regis chuckled.

“For a moment there I imagined you asking the wight to spit into a vial. Quite amusing as a thought. But the salivary glands will do fine, indeed.”

“So, see you later.”

“Yes, till later. I shall start by perusing some tomes.”

“Tomes? Thought you were gonna make the decoction?”

“We require one last ingredient. Alas, obtaining it could prove a trifle toilsome. That I hope to identify a suitable alternative.”

“All right. Good luck.”

“And to you, my friend.” Regis walked off to the mausoleum.

“You coming with me, Cas?”

“No. I think you can lift this curse on your own. Bring us some of it’s brew. Don’t attack her. She’ll be more than happy to have a dinner guest.”

“You’re joking.”

“For once, I’m not. I’ll stay here and help Regis with his tomes. Well, I’m mainly staying here because I don’t fancy fighting Foglets and Barghests and drinking the wight’s brew. Have fun, dad. We’ll be waiting for you.” Cas walked off to join Regis in the mausoleum, waving over his shoulder at Geralt.

*

Once back inside, Cas closed the tome Regis was reading.“There is no alternative ingredient.” Regis looked startled, then resigned. “Don’t look so down in the dumps. There might not be another ingredient, but there might be an alternative source.” Cas walked over to Regis’ laboratory, grabbing a vile. “See, it’s a long shot, but I figured we’d kill two birds with one stone. Let’s see if I qualify. Maybe you don’t have to do it.”

“I’m not sure Geralt would condone this...”

“Its my choice, Regis. It can’t hurt to test my blood. Besides, I did say it’s a long shot. I might have too many mutagens to make me truly a higher vampire.”

“I guess it’ll settle the dilemma over your race, once and for all. Yes, I don’t see the harm in it.“ Cas nodded quickly and promptly cut his vein. He poured some of his blood into a vial and, firmly placing the rubber stopper in it, handed it over for examination.

*

Cas didn’t qualify for the potion. He qualified as a vampire, sure, enough to be a true higher vampire. To truly belong to a pack and take a mate. But not enough for the damned potion. “Sorry, Regis.”

“It didn't hurt to try."

*Much later*

“Think your friend’s hand’ll make for for a nice broth?” Teased Geralt, announcing his arrival.

“Hm. You’ve clearly honed your sense of humour. But we are not cannibals, Geralt. I took a fragment of tissue from the hand. It will suffice to prepare some Resonance.”

“What’d you do with the rest?”

“I cremated it, as our codex commands. A raven told me you’d acquired the necessary ingredient.”

“Pretty helpful creatures. Call on the often?”

“I try not to overdo it. But they can be so useful. As they were now, when I merely needed to be sure I could arrive in time should things go sour.”

“Managed fine alone, but… thanks for the thought. Gonna need much longer to finish brewing Resonance? Mentioned a last ingredient, too – what about that?”

“That, I fear might prove troublesome. You see, to use the concoction to summon the memories of one, the solution must contain the blood of another specimen of the same species.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. I happen to know two higher vampires who should be willing to help. Right, Cas, Regis?”

“It’s not that simple.” Admitted Cas, sadly.

“While you were away, we tested Cas’ blood. He _is_ a higher vampire, but he has too many other mutagens to brew the potion correctly.”

“In other words. I’m contaminated.” Cas announced cheerfully. Regis scrunched his nose at the choice of words.

“There’s not a substitute?” Asked Geralt.

“No. There isn’t. Cas told me after only one tome.”

“It would be a waste of time considering I already know that there isn’t a substitute.”

“Not sure I understand what the problem is. Can’t we just draw some of your blood?”

“The blood must be in an agitated state. As I’m certain you know, higher vampires can change their corporeal shell. As our flesh changes, so does our blood’s chemical composition. To make a long story short, I shall need to induce in myself a state of strong psychokinetic arousal. In brief, madness, rabidity. And that stands to be very, very dangerous.” Cas shivered.

“Dangerous? Why? I mean, you’ll still be you, right?”

“True. But I shall be highly agitated, in a state of fury. You know better than I that fury cannot be controlled. If you’ve ever seen an enraged vampire, you know very well that all who find themselves nearby will be in grave danger.”

“How will we handle that? I’d rather not have you lunge at me, claws extended.”

“That makes two of us. But worry not. Cas thought it through.”

“I didn’t think it though. I remembered a storyline.” Cas mumbled.

“All right, so what do you wanna do?” Geralt asked. Regis looked at Cas, who motioned at Regis to tell the plan.

“We shall go to Tesham Mutna, an ancient vampire estate. There we will find cages suspended in the air. I will enter one, be confined. You will lure beasts there. Beasts you will then kill. The bloodletting should prove profuse. Abundant enough so that the blood’s scent will drive me med, wild.”

“Tesham Mutna. What’s it like?”

“It is a place of torment, a torture chamber. Long ago, shortly after we’d arrived in this world, one among us named Khagmar developed such a taste and lust for human blood that in one night he could imbibe an entire village. This brought trouble on the entire species. Common folk wearied quickly of living in constant fear. They began to hunt us, seek the aid in mages and witchers in tracking us down.”

“So what? Not like they could ever hope to kill you.”

“But they were bothersome. Forgive the comparison, but when did you last enjoy mosquitos buzzing around your head? In any case, the other vampires decided something had to be done, Khagmar had to be caught and punished. A torture chamber was thus outfitted in the dungeons of Tesham Mutna. Inside it, a cage made entirely of a special alloy of silver, dalvinite, and meteorite steel. Khagmar was captured and locked in the cage. Sat there over two centuries, drawn to fury time after time, never able to escape. Thus I know the cage will withstand the fury to which we shall drive my humble being.”

“Now that’s a good story. So much better than the Dracula rubbish we made up in the old world. To be fair, it was made up, and by humans. The vampires there couldn’t be killed with garlic either.”

“They could be killed?” Asked Geralt.

“The vampires from my world were humans who thought it was ~cool~ to dress like a sparkly twat.”

“See no reason to dawdle. Tesham Mutna – take me there.”

“In a moment. Just one last thing.” Regis drank something questionable from a vial.

“What was that?” Geralt asked, concerned.

“Blood. The last favor the raven did me. I’ve also taken some sangurium, a solution that sharpens one’s sense of smell. One drop of blood should smell like a gallon to me, now.”

“You crazy? You’re a recovering addict!”

“I wondered why it smelt so good in here.” Said Cas.

“And you, out now. We don’t need two drunk Vampires.” Cas huffed and sauntered out of the mausoleum.

“Your outrage warms my heart, Geralt, but you must remain calm. I had no choice.” Regis made a pained face. “As things stand, the die is cast. High time we set off for Tesham Mutna. My head’s spinning already, and you’re- you’re starting to smell quite tasty…”

“And you’re starting to scare me.”

*

“Thorne! On your left!” Imara warned as Thorne got hit again by a rotfiend.

“Thanks. I wasn't aware.” Thorne deadpanned. Imara chopped the head off a rotfiend before it exploded. The rotfiends closed in on them. They were outnumbered. They heard a snarl off towards the road. _Great. The last thing I need is another monster._ Thought Imara.

“Regis calm down! It’s just a little blood. Hold it together.” _Geralt?_

“Keep going. I’ll check where its coming from. Regis; Calm. Geralt’s here. Its all going to be okay.” _That can’t be. Well. It could be possible. But. No._ A figure appeared on top of the hill.

“Hey, you gotta ease up on the bloodletting. You’ve already angered one vampire. I’d assume that you don’t want to anger another.” Cas looked out onto the field. Two witchers. Surrounded. Wounded. He sniffed. _Rotfiends_. He drew his silver sword and cast quen. Leaping into action, he gave the other two witchers time to gather themselves and they each took out 4 of the 12 rotfiends with impressive manoeuvring. Regis and Geralt had not yet left. They were watching from the road, Geralt holding onto Regis, trying to calm him. The blood was almost too much. They were nearly to Tesham Mutna.

“C’mon Regis. We can’t afford for you to lose it now.” Geralt held Regis tighter and leaned his head into Regis’ shoulder. Regis did the same. He was safe, for now. But Geralt was still very painfully aware that in this position, Regis could kill him before he even had the chance to think about drawing his silver sword.

*

Cas turned around to face the two witchers.“Count yourselves lucky. If I hadn’t been there you’d be another casualty of the trade… Thorne? Imara? Bryan and I have been looking for you two everywhere!” They all sheathed their swords.

“Where’s Bryan?” Asked Imara.

“Novigrad. He’s with Dandelion and the rest of the troupe. Said he’d give up witchering for a while to sing and dance and act.”

“Yeah, sounds right. So why are you here?” Asked Thorne, popping the cork on some swallow.

“Storyline." Cas answered shortly. "Got anywhere to be?" 

"Not really." Imara confessed.

"Would you like to come to Tesham Mutna then? They've got cages and like I guess only a vague smell of death. Plus, then we can actually catch up. And I'm sure I can find a place for you two to stay at Corvo Bianco, bread and board on the house." 

“Bread?” asked Thorne, intrigued.

*

As the three witchers (the wolf, cat, and manticore) approached the white wolf and higher vampire they stopped, just behind a bush. That was, well, too precious to interrupt. Finally, Geralt had listened and given into his feelings.“You good for now, Regis.”

“I’ll be okay.” They separated. Cas cursed. They walked out of the bushes.

“Dad, Regis. These are my friends from the other universe. Thorne, Imara, meet Geralt and Regis.” Thorne made an ‘eep’ noise and awkwardly waved in Geralt's general direction.

“Don't be shy. He’s not the one that bites.” Cas laughed at his own joke.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you” said Regis but when he made a move to walk, greet them, he stumbled, tripped, and fell flat on his face. Geralt helped him up.

“We need to get him to Tesham Mutna. Quickly.”

*5 minutes later*

“We have arrived. The sacrificial chamber of torture and torment lies underground.”

“Sure you know what you’re doing?” Asked Geralt.

“I can only hope I do. Please, let’s go? The longer we delay, the less control I shall have over my faculties. I’d really prefer not to hurt you.” The three younger witchers snickered at the double meaning. Regis looked at them disapprovingly.

“Spare me your juvenile wit, please.” Geralt snickered too.

“Sorry. You lead.” Another burst of laughter. Regis moved and revealed a body behind him. Geralt examined it. “Scurvers. Must be getting close to their feeding ground.”

“Correct. I told you there’d be danger.” Regis went up to the wall behind them. “Beyond this wall lies...”

“An ancient vampire dungeon. Seen a lot of things in my time. Nothing like this, though.” Said Geralt.

 

“My, I feel honoured. A man with such a wealth of experience, yet I’m about to show him something new. Now to open it.” There was a muttered ‘that’s not the only thing new he’s shown him’ no-one could tell if it came from Imara or Thorne. Before Regis could even think about opening the door, Cas nicked his hand and pressed the blood to the wall. To his surprise, the door opened.

“Wait so my blood doesn’t classify for a stupid potion but it classifies enough for the door? This is bullshit.” Regis laughed.

“What the hell?” Geralt exclaimed at the sight of the door.

“It’s an ancient form of protection against unwanted guests. The mechanism which releases the latch reaches only to a higher vampire’s blood.”

“Tricky mechanisms, a vampire hideout – fortified, secured. Must’ve been important to your species once, Toussaint.”

“It shall always be so. During the Conjunction, the gate from our world into this one opened upon this land and no other. This was the first place we saw.”  
They all filed into the dungeon, following Regis down a flight of stairs and stopping in the first room. Geralt picked up a dusty book.

“Human Husbandry and Care? This for real?”

“The author observed humans, their behaviour, over the many years he spent breeding them. Morally suspect though it may be, it’s a through survey of the topic.” Cas pretended to gag, then went snooping through the chests.

“Cas, we talked about this. You’ve got to stop. You’re a fully fledged kleptomaniac as it is.” He ignored Geralt and continued to pick up shiny baubles and other miscellaneous objects. He handed them absently to Imara and Thorne who in turn also examined them and pocketed any that looked valuable. Geralt sighed.

“This place – there’s evil here. Death hangs in the air.”

“As well as cages. Just your thing. Right, Thorne?” Imara teased. Thorne looked at Imara… You know the look. Like a living lenny face.

“Yes. A great many beings have breathed their last here.” Said Regis. They continued down the rickety, wooden spiral. Geralt held his torch to the wall.

“Glyphs’re carved into the rock. Coated with blood, used to be. They mean something?”

“They’re emblems, symbols of hmm… what you would call tribes, dispersed throughout the world after the Conjunction. My ancestors placed them here to remind us all where we came from.” Regis leaned against a door.

“What’s this symbol mean?” Asked Cas.

“It’s the symbol of the Tidt. Those who went east, beyond the Blue Mountains.” Geralt picked up, yet another book, entitled ‘Battery-Cage vs Free-Range Humans.’

“Seems your kind assembled a peculiar little library.”

“Indeed… Though I personally did not lay a hand to it.” Meanwhile Cas, Imara, and Thorne were examining the walls for more tribal markings.

“And this one? Which tribe is this?” Asked Cas.

“Garasham. My tribe, and Dettlaff’s. We both remained in this part of the world.”

“Hmm cool. Did we ever have a marking for the Procrastinator’s Club?”

“No. Though we should’ve.” Said Imara. “Do either of you have a tribe? I mean you’re both vampires.”

“I’m a bruxa. I don’t get a tribe.” Said Thorne. “But I do get to scream.”

“And though I’m a higher vampire, I don’t have one either, I guess. It’d be nice, but it’s not really on my list of priorities to figure out right now.”

“I’ll have a talk to Dettlaff. He might be able to tell which tribe you belong to.” Offered Regis.

“Thanks. That’d be great.” They walked into the next room. Geralt was taken aback by what he saw.

“Cells? Who for?”

“Ahh, disgraceful, excruciatingly so, this particular page from our history… I’d rather not summon the demons of the past, if it’s all right with you.”  
They continued walking in silence. Once in the main chamber, they stopped, looking around. It was large and circular with multiple suspended cages and one lowered one in the centre of the room.

“Charming place. But… what are all those cages for? Mentioned one vampire being kept here.” Geralt asked.

“Yes. Well… You see, humanitarians is something my ancestors were not. They concluded that Khagmar would best be punished if he were tormented with the scent of blood he could not taste. Thus they also kept humans here, humans whose blood they slowly let. Khagmar ranted and raged in pain as those… those humans slowly bled to death…”

“They treated them like livestock, live bait.”

“I’d like to be able to turn back time, deny it, but alas… I can do neither. Feel shame for my brethren, that is all I can do.”

“Don’t take it so hard. Nothing you could’ve done about it. Let’s get to work.”

“Well, that was awkward. Fine. I prepared the bait, please be so kind and place it. Ideally at the tunnel entrances – the scent will spread most effectively, then.”

“Yeah, before that. Do you think it wise to have Thorne and I down here when you’re busy making this place awash with blood?” Cas asked.

“I don’t get blood lust.” Admitted Thorne.

“Lucky bitch.”

“Get rekt.”

“Cas, go wait up top. Unless you want to be in a cage too.”

“I’ll pass. But I think Thorne would love to.”

“Fuck off.” Cas left for the entrance.

“Place the bait at the tunnel entrances. Monsters will catch its scent more quickly.”

“When I think about how these tunnels got here… sends shivers.”

“It was the natural order of things – the place reeked of death and attracted necrophages.” Geralt, Imara, and Thorne got to work, placing the bait.

“Feel alright, Regis?” Asked Geralt, genuinely concerned.

“How I feel is unimportant. My blood, agitated and transformed – that’s what matters. It’s what we need to save Dettlaff.” If you listened closely, you would hear a faint ‘it matters to me.’ Coming from Geralt. But no one was.

“Think this’ll work?” Asked Imara.

“I certainly hope so. The meat’s stench is so thick I wager it carries clear to Novigrad.”

“Bait’s set. What now?”

“I shall enter the cage. You must chain me inside. The bars are made of an alloy that will prevent me from transforming into mist.” Regis walked over to the cage.

“Kinda thought you wouldn’t want to.”

“I shall be in great pain, my sole thought being to stop that pain. I cannot know what I will do.” Regis sounded angry now, almost yelling. Geralt locked the cage. “We must hurry. The beasts have caught the scent. Also, my head’s started spinning.” He said this through gritted teeth, while Geralt chained his arms to the cage bars.

“That the blood?”

“Someone who’s never experienced a vampire’s bloodlust… does not know the true meaning of thirst.” Geralt pulled the lever, hauling the cage into the air.

“Maybe we need a safe word? You know, something you’ll say when you can’t take it any more.” Thorne and Imara snickered, agreeing with each other that Geralt should be the one with the safe word.

“And what would you do once I uttered it?”

“Don’t know. Uh, calm you down… somehow…”

“Please, Geralt. You won’t be able to. We must forge through this, that is all.” Geralt looked intensely into the tunnels, suspense tightening in his chest and shoulders, tension building. He could hear their clumsy footsteps and could vaguely see their glowing eyes moving swiftly towards him. His blade struck flesh and the air filled with the iron scent of blood.

*15 minutes, several lesser vampires, and about 30 necrophages later*

Regis roared, the blood finally setting him off, the lesser vampires and necrophages scampered away. Thorne, as she was part bruxa, had to fight the urge to kneel before the obviously more alpha vampire. Geralt seemed to give into the urge to bare his neck a little before snapping out of it and dutifully letting the cage down. They took a little of his blood and waited. Regis roared again, but this one was pained. Geralt went closer.“What the hell are you doing?” Asked Imara.

“Shh.” Thorne hushed her. Geralt sat down, back towards the cage, leaning against the bars.

“Need to hang on a little longer. Blood’ll dry in a few hours. Scent won’t bother you anymore.” Imara turned around to see Thorne licking the floor.

“For fuck sake, Thorne. Stop licking up the blood, you’re tormenting Regis.” Regis roared in agreeement, more quietly this time.

*

When Regis finally calmed down, they decided it was time to move on. “Get you out of here.”

“The concoction.” Regis said, still a bit out of it. Geralt opened the cage and had to quickly catch Regis.

“You can’t finish it in this state. Tell me how. I’ll help you.” Geralt hauled him up and slung him over his shoulder. Imara and Thorne looked at him funnily.  
“Easier to put him on Roach this way.” Geralt lied. They all knew that he just wanted to carry Regis. They made it to the top to find Cas passed out, cold, on the ground, claws still extended.

“Fuck.” Swore Geralt. “I knew this would happen.” They slung the two vampires over the horses and made their way back to Mère-Lachaiselongue cemetery.

*

Back at the cemetery, Regis finally awoke. He was met with Geralt staring at him. “Any better?”

“Far from ideal and some time must pass before I fully recover, but yes, a bit better. Thank you.”

“Never expected it to be like that. You didn’t tell me.”

“We need not discuss it.”

“But we do. ‘Cause if I’d know you were going to subject yourself to torture…”

“What would you have done?”

“Found Dettlaff some other way.”

“I did not wish you to use any other way. Did that occur to you?”

“No, ‘cause I thought on being would willingly subject itself to that kind of pain. You vampires aren’t any different to humans in the regard.”

“I told you, the pain is my way of paying my debt – the enormous debt I owe Dettlaff. If I had to do it again… I would, in a heartbeat.”

“You shouldn’t hurt yourself for him. Didn’t he heal you? Hurting yourself is the last thing he’d want.” Geralt stopped himself when he saw Regis’ face. Oh, god what had he said? “I-uh-I’m just mad that you’d do that to yourself. But I’m glad you’re still whole, really.” It wasn’t nearly enough of an apology. Geralt was, by now, internally freaking out.

“Geralt, calm down. What’s made you so upset? I’m fine. Tell me what’s going on.”

“No. I’m okay. I don’t know why I’m acting like this. But I’ll stop. I’ve been weird ever since Cas told me to stop stifling my emotions but I just tend to make people uncomfortable. I’m uh getting better at it? I think…”

“Oh. My apologies, Geralt. I’m glad you’re trying.” Geralt smiled, awkwardly.

“It's great you two are finally having a heart to heart, but Geralt should drink the potion. Go on, hug it out and then we’re going to plunge you into maximum toxicity.” Cas, who had woken but a few minutes ago, complaining of a roaring headache, pointed to Geralt and then motioned for them to hug. Regis took this advice to heart and wrapped Geralt in a massive bear hug, effectively almost crushing Geralt’s ribs.

“Regis… super strength… crushing me…”

“Oh.” Regis loosened the hug and it became more of an embrace. Cas made a silent retreat, concluding that they needed this.

*10 long minutes later*

“Resonance. It’s ready.” Said Geralt.

“Are you certain you followed the formula? The proportions were exact, the brewing time precise? This is important, Geralt. The slightest deviation could cost even a witcher dearly.”

“Relax. Got some experience brewing potions.”

“Very well… In that case, lets begin.” Geralt drank some of the potion, the veins on his face became ever more prominent, his breath laborious. He was out like a light, eyes rolling back into his head. He fell down onto the mattress.

“Well, now’s as good a time as ever to tell you how I became a vampire.” Cas announced his presence.

“Do tell.” Regis gestured for Cas to start.

“Well, I guess it started when I fell out of the sky and landed in the middle of Kaer Morhen.”

“You fell out of the sky?”

“Shh. No interruptions.” Cas said, jokingly. Regis knew he must have picked his sense of humour up from Geralt. “Now where was I? Ah yes! Falling out of the sky, big ball of light. I blacked out on impact, but they told me later. So Vesemir took me into the keep but that was a bad idea because I put myself through the Trial of the Grasses.”

“Put yourself through…”

“Regis. Last warning. So I started absorbing every mutagen I came across. All the witchers had to leave the keep. Luckily Vesemir had the mind to leave the Trial chest open because otherwise I’d still be there. I have no idea how he witchers got their hands on a higher vampire mutagen but they had one right in the keep, in a jar for fuck sake. And that’s how I became a vampire. Bland story, I know. Anticlimactic.”

“But interesting all the same.” Geralt started to writhe and spasm. Regis panicked but flew into action anyway, putting Geralt on his side so he didn’t choke on his own saliva. Cas stared at them, wondering what was going to happen. How was Regis going to react to his mate almost choking? He realised that he was staring and left them to do what they would. The last thing he saw before he left was Regis curling up behind Geralt protectively.

*

When Cas was bored, he sang. It reminded him of his world. He got what Regis talked about when he said that this would never be his home. But Regis had never even been to his world. Cas actually lived in his for 15 years. This time Imara and Thorne were there to sing with him.

“Are you ready for another bad poem?  
One more off-key anthem,  
Let your teeth sink in,  
Remember me as I was, not as I am.  
And I said, “I’ll check in tomorrow if I don’t wake up dead,”  
I kept wishing she had blonde ambition and she’d let it go to my head.”

A rustling in the bushes distracted them from their song. Cas stood up from where he was perched on a grave, and drew his silver sword. He crept towards the noise. This never happened in the witcher games. Slightly panicking, he cast quen. He leapt at the bush, pushing the foliage away with his free hand. A fucking rabbit. He sighed, relieved.“You’re rigorous training finally paid off, it seems.” Cas turned around to the figure standing where he had been sitting mere moments ago.

“Koel?” Cas dropped his sword into its sheath. He stood there not knowing what to do with himself. He felt like the 15 year old boy he was when he dropped right through that portal all over again. Not a 33 year old witcher. It it had been 10 years since he'd seen him. He knew he should hug him, do something. But he froze. He didn’t freeze. Never. But he’d never been able to handle himself anyway. Everyone was staring at him.

“Are you gonna stand there or are you gonna give me a hug?”

“Right. Yeah, I’ll do that.” The hug was awkward, but not lacking in passion.

“What are you doing here? How’d you find me?”

“A bird told me you’d come to Toussaint.”

“Does this bird never shut the fuck up and wear a bear amulet around his neck?”

“Maybe.” They laughed.

“Glad to know Bryan hasn’t changed. But uhm... who are you?” aked Im.

"Oh, Im, Thorne, this is Koel, you guessed it, yet another vampire." 

"How do you know each other?" 

"That's a story for another time. Anyway, it’s good to see you, Koel. Have you got a place to stay?”

“You know me Cas, of course not.”

“Geralt just got an estate near Beauclair. You can come with us when I take Im and Thorne there.”

“That’d be good. Will you be there often?”

“Depends on the storyline. But I’ll be there most nights.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

“Let me tell Regis where we’re going first.”

“Regis? So did you get them together?”

“Geralt is stubborn to acknowledge his feelings and Regis isn’t doing anything about the incomplete mating bond. It must be tearing him apart from the inside.” Cas shivered and reached up to his chest. He stopped himself and tore away to the entrance.

“REGIS WE’RE GOING TO CORVO BIANCO! I’LL BE BACK!” He yelled.

“I’m a vampire. Just talk normally.” Cas was embarrassed. The other witchers laughed at him.

“Sorry. Did I hurt your ears?”

“I’m fine. I’ll tell Geralt where you are when he wakes up.” Cas turned around and smiled sheepishly.

“Alright. To Corvo Bianco.” Regis never got up from where he was curled around Geralt.

*

Geralt awoke warm and confused. But he _was_ warm and that was good enough for him. He snuggled closer to the warmth, sighing contently. He hadn’t slept that well in years. He slowly drifted back to sleep.

*

Geralt awoke the second time, cold and remembering what he was meant to do. He groaned and sat up. All the images from the resonance dream coming back to him very vividly. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. Regis was sitting not too far from where he was. “Awake at last. You writhed like a squirrel caught in a snare. I’d begun to fear they were death throes, that you’d… departed.” This time is for sleep, Regis. Sleep. Not talking.

“Ehh… Sure wasn’t pleasant… But it worked…”

“What did you see?”

“De la Croix… his death did not come easy. Seems Dettlaff had made friends with him. Still killed him and chopped up his corpse. Then he was overcome with fury, remorse. Cut off the hand that had committed the murder.”

“Hm. Interesting. And entirely unlike the Dettlaff I know. See anything else?”

“Saw a moment – De la Croix did something selfless, was kind to Dettlaff… Guess it could’ve been the start of their friendship…”

“Why the uncertainty?”

“Nothing extraordinary about it. Normal, everyday situation, really. Visions were supposed to issue from strong emotions.”

“Clearly the situation provoked such emotions in Dettlaff. Keep in mind, he did later murder De la Croix. Killing someone who’s grown dear to us, it’s bound to elicit strong emotion. Vampires are no different in that regard. Did you see anything else?”

“There was something, showed up twice in the vision – a bootblack’s stand. Dettlaff first met De la Croix there. Went back after the murder, actually…”

“Peculiar.”

“Stand was somewhere in the port district. And the bootblack acted as if he knew Dettlaff.”

“Hm. That would be even odder… Perhaps we should have a chat with the lad, though I would expect no breakthroughs.”

“It’s our only lead. I’ll go talk to him. Coming with?”

“I shall join you later, if that’s no trouble. I don’t yet feel strong enough to venture out.”

“That’s fair. Rest up. Be back soon as I learn anything.” Regis nodded to Geralt. “Where’s Cas?”

“He went to Corvo Bianco with his friends, but something tells me, you’ll meet him at the bootblack stand.” Geralt hummed in agreement.

“Thanks Regis.”


	3. Where Children Toil, Toys Waste Away

Geralt approached the bootblack’s stand, Cas was already there and, surprise, surprise, having an argument with some locals who were picking on the bootblack. He stood a way off, watching the scene play out. “Leave him alone.” Warned Cas.

“Just who the spit are you?”

“All you need to know is, long as I’m here, you’re not gonna touch the boy.”

“Is that so? Then we’ll come find him once you’re gone.”

“Try it, and I’ll find you.”

“Is that a threat.”

“A promise. Leave the kid be and piss off.”

“Oh, no! No northern sheepdiddler insults us! We’ll pummel the swine first, then spank the piglet! Get him!” Geralt knew that Cas could manage on his own, but he wasn’t really going to risk Cas getting into another losing fight.

“Come to help me beat some sense into these fuckheads?”

“Sure.” The three went down easily and, unfortunately, loudly. This drew the ducal guard.

“What’s the meaning of this? The brawl – who started it?”

“I’m investigating the Beast on the duchess’ orders.”

“As yes, we heard of you. And these men – what are they doing?”

“Obstructing my investigation.”

“Understood. Right, a few days in the clink ought to teach them not to impede official duchy business. Come on.”

“Hang on. The other witcher has to stay with me. He’s helping catch the Beast, besides I’m not going to let you lock my son up in jail for something he didn’t do.”

“Witchers are sterile, are they not?”

“Get off me.” Cas growled.

“Son by choice. Now release him.” The guards loosened their grip on Cas and he fell to the ground. He brushed himself off and stood up straight as the guards went off with the peasants. They turned their attention towards the bootblack.

“You’re very good with your fists, sirs. Wouldn’t be looking for work, would you? We’d make a fine trio.”

“Yeah? How you imagine that working?” Inquired Geralt.

“Splendidly, that’s how. I suggest a partnership, where I see to the boots while you stand guard. And as you’re both stronger, come morn you’d take the chamber pot out and help me make mud.”

“Hang on. Bit about the mud’s true? They were right to wanna box your ears.” Conceded Cas.

“I’ve got to make a living somehow.”

“You can make mud with water and dirt. No need for the chamber pot.” The bootblack ignored Cas.

“So, what say you, sirs? Partners?”

“Lemme think about it.” Lied Geralt. “Listen, I’m interested in a certain gentleman…” Cas coughed.

“Regis.” Geralt glared at him. He smiled innocently.

“Wait, wait. Before we get to talking, please, take a seat.” Geralt looked down at his shoes, swinging one of his feet back and forth in the air.

“But my boots are clean.”

“As are mine.”

“In this city, no boots are clean unless they’ve just come off my stand. A seat, sirs, please.” Cas and Geralt shared a helpless look and, shrugging, sat down on the bootblack’s chairs.

“So then, who was it you wanted to ask about?”

“One of your patrons. Tall, elegant black frock. Not from around here.”

“An arrival? Hm, indeed, I hear a faint bell ringing… A modest sum might make it sing out loud and clear.”

“How much.” Asked Geralt. Cas scoffed.

“Let’s say… five hundred crowns.”

“What? Gotta be kidding me. What would you even do with that kind of coin?”

“That’s what you get for trying to deal with a kid.” Chided Cas.

“I’d expand my venture. I’m sure you can imagine. Have a proper stand with a big sign. I want a new box, too, new polishes, new brushes… and if I’ve enough coin left, I’ll by a share in a launderer’s, get wastewater for free.”

“Hm, got it all planned out…”

“I should think so! Capital is all I require.” Cas laughed, Geralt couldn’t be actually considering this.

“No way, we’re not about to contribute to your shady venture, you small capitalist.” Cas cast Axii. “You’ll tell us what you know – for free.”

“Yes, sirs, of course, sirs, as you wish, sirs…”

“That’s more like it.”

“I know the fellow you seek, though I don’t know his name. A steady patron, gets boots cleaned every few days. He’s very good to me, always pays me a premium.”

“Know where we might find him?” Inquired Geralt.

“No… but you could wait here. Perhaps he’ll stop by.”

“Don’t have the time for that… Sure you don’t know where to find him? Or maybe notice which direction he came from?”

“When I clean boots, sir, I do not look up to see where folk come from. I clean!”

“Seems you’re having a rough go of it...” Regis’ voice cut through the chatter of the docks.

“You’re here. Feeling better?” Asked Geralt.

“I am, thank you. The local necropolis – the air does wonders for me. Now, if I might intercede, I daresay I’ve the right question to ask. Young man, do you see this vial? One drop added to your boot polish will help you wipe even the most encrusted boot clean as the dome of Saint Lebioda’s Cathedral. With it, you’ll serve three times as many patrons at a fraction of the effort. Earn piles more coin. I’m prepared to give to you this vial… if you tell me where the man we seek lives.”

“Uhhh… But… you wont hurt him, will you? The gentleman’s odd, true, but he’s kind.”

“In point of fact, he’s a friend. Yet we had a falling out of sorts and would like to straighten matters out.”

“I leave his boots at the door of a house near the port. The door is red. But I do not know if the gentleman lives there.” Geralt and Cas stood up.

“Worth checking. Might happen on a lead.” Said Geralt.

“Would you let me scrape the dirt off your kickers before you go? With all due respect, sir, your boots could stand a cleaning.” The boy cautioned, addressing Regis.

“Thank you. Perhaps later.” Regis offered, tossing the boy the promised vial. Cas, Geralt, and Regis started walking towards Dettlaff’s house.

“Handled that kid pretty well.” Complimented Geralt, impressed.

“Finding the right approach – that’s the trick to dealing with children.”

“Mh, yeah, saw that… Meaning the right thing to bribe them with.”

“It’s the truth. Vesemir could stand to take some lessons from you, Regis.” Interjected Cas.

“Why’s that?”

“He takes a more threatening path. I surely would have liked to be bribed to read those God awful books.”

“I doubt Vesemir’s gonna change now.” Said Geralt. Cas huffed.

“What was in that vial?” Asked Cas. Regis shrugged.

“I’ve not the slightest idea. Just one I had on me. Could be a vial of water for all we know.”

“Sneaky. Very Slytherin.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s a reference to a series of books I once read. It basically means ‘very cunning’ or ‘snake-like’.”

“I should like to read them someday. But come, we’ve no time to lose. It’s not far, from what the lad said.”

“Sure hope we don’t scare him off…” Geralt offered pessimistically. They drew near the house, a charming two-story building, a little run down, but that's only expected in this district. “Red door. One the bootblack mentioned.” Geralt went to open the door. “Wont budge. Gotta break it down.”

“You might just as well stand out in the street, pound on a drum and holler, “Detlaff, I’m coming for you!” A bit more finesse, I implore you.” Regis quipped. Cas snickered and leaned against the wall, watching the exchange. Geralt glared at Cas for the second time that hour.

“Let’s hear your idea.”

“Give me a moment.” Enjoined Regis. He closed his eyes as if concentrating immensely and promptly turned to mist. He dallied in the street for a moment before floating right through the window above Cas’ head. He opened the door from the inside.

“Nice. Ever consider becoming a burglar? Skill like that’d come in awful handy.”

“I considered it briefly, but ultimately concluded it would be terribly dull.”

“Cas, you ever thought of it?” Asked Geralt.

“Thought of it? I’ve done it. What do you think I do in my spare time? Don’t look at me like that Regis. I’m not some common criminal, abusing my abilities. I only ever do it to Horst.” Cas huffed and muttered about something called the ‘fun police’ when Regis’ face didn’t change from its harsh lines of judgment. Regis looked at Geralt, his face softening.

“Come.” They followed him into Dettlaff’s residence. “You really ought to have found a higher vampire to teach him about how to use his abilities, Geralt.”

“Is this about the burglary? Didn't you said you had considered theft too?”

“This isn’t about that. I’m just worried that he had to figure it out all on his own. Misting can be very dangerous if not done properly.”

“I can hear you. There’s nothing wrong with my misting.” Cas grumbled.

“How would you know?” Asked Regis.

“I don’t. But nothing bad has happened yet. So I doubt anything’s wrong.” The corners of Regis' mouth pulled down into a disapproving frown.

“He here? Sense him?” Asked Geralt, bringing the vampires back to the task at hand. Regis sniffed the air.

“No. He’s not here. But he was here recently, his scent is still strong.”

“How do you even go by scents, trust your nose? I honestly can’t differentiate between people.”

“That’s certainly a problem. But we’ll work on that another time. See Geralt, this is why he should have brought to another higher vampire. That’s not normal.”

“I didn’t think of it, alright. How was I supposed to know it’s not normal? He can smell better than any witcher. I assumed it’s okay. Let’s just…” Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s look around.” They split up and started snooping though Dettlaff’s belongings. The toyshop gave the trio an uneasy feeling.

“I find these puppets rather disturbing.” Mumbled Regis.

“Tell me about it.” Cas answered. “Fuck, it’s creepy in here.” Geralt made his way to the stairs.

“Attic. Let’s go.” They ascended the stairs one by one and were met with a musty dump of a room, the only source of light a tiny window above the bed. “So this is his nest. Need to look around.”

“By nest do you mean bedroom?” Asked Cas, taking out his sword. He used it to move some dirty laundry to a corner.

“No. Nest. We vampires have nests, sometimes they house beds, other times piles of blankets. Depends on the vampire and if it’s mating season.”

“Okay. You lost me at mating season.”

“That was the very end of the sentence so in truth I had not lost you. Mating season only occurs when you are in close proximity to your mate. It’s different for every vampire.” Cas nodded and whispered a silent ‘fuck’ to himself. He hoped it didn’t interfere with his career. Geralt made a beeline for the drawing on the wall.

“Woman’s likeness… Bit smudged. This his lover?”

“I don’t rightly know.” Replied Regis.

“Reminds me of someone…”

“Who?” Regis asked, surprised.

“Not sure. Can’t help feeling I’ve seen that face before, though.”

“Dettlaff might be a mildly grumpy homicidal maniac, but you have to admit he’s got talent. Maybe he should drop the serial killer schtick to become a moody painter.” Cas quipped.

“Maybe then he can vent his maladjustment onto canvas, instead of people’s lives.” Said Geralt. The witchers snickered quietly. Regis was only mildly amused.

“Really, now, must you?” Cas moved about the room looking in all of Dettlaff’s chests, trunks, pots and other storage places. He plucked up a scroll from the rubbish bin, unfurling it and clearing his throat.

“Hey guys, so get this. “Dettlaff Van der Eretein, you do not know us, but we know you… to be a vampire. We know also of your weakness for the wench they call Rhenawedd. Now you know this. We shall chain her down and let rats feed on her. We shall flay the skin from her flesh… Yet you can save her. You need but travel to Beauclair, where you shall slay five men in the manner we prescribe. You must complete the killing in three days. Fail, and the next letter you receive will contain a memento of your failure – your beloved’s finger.” Cas gritted his teeth, losing control of his emotions for a minute, allowing this fangs to elongate with rage before snapping them back to somewhat normal size. “Humans are the monsters. Not us. I once thought, huh humans aren't that bad. Actually they're pretty cute, look at that tiny little space program. Went to the moon and brought back rocks like 'these made me think of you', but when they're like this I swear to God there is not an uglier being on the planet.” Cas rambled.

“Well,” said Regis. “There you have it. Proof positive Dettlaff killed not of his own accord. A blackmailer’s sunk his claws into him.”

“Any idea what it could be? Dettlaff have any enemies?” Asked Geralt.

“Indeed, Dettlaff gains foes occasionally, but they never live long.”

“One might’ve managed to evade him.”

“Possible in theory… but I know of none. It would have to be someone devilishly dangerous. As you well know, having faced Dettlaff yourself. Whoever it is, it is someone new.”

“O’Dimm?” Asked Cas.

“We banished him.”

“Not forever. I’ve seen demons crawl their way up from hell. Even after an exorcism.”

“Dettlaff would be dead.”

“Fair point.” Conceded Cas, thinking.

“Now. Who’s Rhenawedd?” Asked Geralt.

“His one-time lover. The sole human woman with whom he was very close. Because she accepted him. With her aid and care, he found a place for himself in this hostile world. She began the work that I strive to continue.” Cas’ face twisted in agony, but he didn’t attempt to say anything. Geralt glanced at him, concerned.

“Go ahead. Ask your question. We don’t have all day. Dettlaff might return at any minute for all we know.” Geralt huffed.

“Ever meet Rhenawedd?”

“Never had the pleasure, alas.” Regis lamented. Cas scoffed.

“You don’t want to meet her. Cunning, devilish woman. Always got one hand behind her back. Makes me paranoid as hell.”

“It seems you've met her.”

“Not here. Not as me. Not in this world.” Standard response. 

“She deserted Dettlaff a time before he came round to save me. Though he always claimed she’d gone missing.”

“Why’d he think that? Any signs or clues to that effect?” Asked Geralt.

“None to be found. Apparently she disappeared one day. Her belongings disappeared with her. Not a scenario one associates with kidnapping. In my humble opinion, she left on her own, scared off, perhaps, by a bout of Dettlaff’s rage that revealed his other, more monstrous side.”

“Dettlaff have trouble letting go, accepting that she’d left him?”

“Is that so hard to believe? Do you know no humans who’ve struggled with just such a thing? And Dettlaff is so much more emotional than most humans. Not only was she his beloved, his lover, his mate. She was a member of his pack. And one never leaves one’s pack voluntarily.”

“I told you. She’s a fiendish woman who used Dettlaff and preyed on his weaker side. She has not one bit of empathy, and that alone makes me want to wring her neck.” Admitted Cas.

“Dettlaff ever try to find her? I mean, if she was that important… Higher vampires have their ways. All kinds. Should’ve been easy as pie for him.”

“Geralt, as you rightly noted, we are vampires, not miracle workers. He searched, for months on end before giving up. Clearly Rhenawedd knew him all too well, enough to cover her tracks, leave no way for him to find her.”

“Even if Rhenawedd did abandon him that time, looks like someone’s actually kidnapped her this time.”

“Hard to argue with that. And hard to foresee what he’s prepared to do to free her, get her back.”

“He’s prepared to kill, that’s clear.”

“As would you be for Yennefer.” Cas hissed through his teeth.

“I’d try not to use the ‘Y’ word too loosely around here.” Cas whispered, motioning to Geralt.

“Why? Did you two have a falling out” Asked Regis.

“You could say that.” Answered Geralt, shortly. Cas mouthed ‘I’ll tell you later.’ To Regis.

“Well, as you would for Ciri, or Cas. He kills for he cares for her deeply, and that blood, those individuals… They mean nothing to him.”

“Yeah I get it now. He’s out to rescue an omega, excuse the wolf terms, from his pack.”

“Exactly.”

“Right, so someone’s blackmailing him – we know that. Still have no idea who. Need to look around some more.”

*15 minutes of snooping later*

“Look, slips of paper, name on each… Count Crespi, Count du Lac, Milton de Peyrac-Peyran, Count de la Croix…” Geralt read.

“Dettlaff’s victims, one and all. But that’s not his hand.” Regis looked over Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt stilled, the vampire was so close. He was about to turn around to look at Regis when he felt a hand on one of his shoulders, and Regis’ head on he other. Regis was resting his chin. Cas was laughing at Geralt’s panicked face, but offered no help.

“Comfy?” Asked Geralt, his voice cracking slightly. There was a soft snore from Regis. Sleeping while standing, honestly.

“Excuse me, I am merely tired.” Regis said abruptly, startling Geralt by talking loudly into his ear. Regis yawned, attempting, and failing, to stifle it with his hand. “Continue.” He stood unsurely by himself. “I’m simply just a little tired.”

“You should come to Corvo Bianco. I’ve got some builders to put some completely new rooms in, some good beds. Even started making one for... It doesn't matter.”

“For who?” Asked Geralt.

“Never mind. We should get Regis there to get some well-deserved rest.” Geralt nodded, still a little hesitant. 

“These bits of parchment. Must’ve come from whoever wrote the letter. All of it written using the same ink.” Geralt held the parchment up to the light. “See the colour? Ink was dyed with cinnabarite. Rare mineral, pretty much found only in…”

“Nazair.” Finished Regis. _Cute_ , thought Cas. _They’re finishing each other’s sentences._

“But I fear it means very little – anyone could have imported such ink.”

“Fair enough. Still worth remembering.”

“Look, this slip is stained.”

“With wine. Not much to go on, either – especially not in Beauclair.”

“Perhaps… Yet perhaps also worth remembering.”

“Blackmailer – kinda curious who it could be…”

“Why is that?”

“Regis… Somebody kidnapped a vampire’s lover – bold to begin with. Now they’re forcing the vampire to kill, a vampire you yourself insist to be no murderer. Blackmailer’s skilled, someone special.”

“Hm. Astute. Now that I think of it, I’m beginning to wonder if…”

“It’s not one of your kind? Another vampire?”

“Precisely. The plot thickens.”

“Just a hypothesis. Wouldn’t set my heart on it till we know more.”

“Right you are.”

“Let’s sum up what we know. Seems Dettlaff’s being blackmailed. Someone’s been feeding him his victims’ names.”

“All noted down using one and the same Nazairi ink. And not in his handwriting.”

“Not much…”

“But enough to ascertain Dettlaff’s innocence. Clearly.”

“Actually, it is. Dettlaff’s being manipulated. Some lunatic’s turned him into a tool, making him kill.”

“So it would seem… But this illuminates a path of action for us. We must find Rhenawedd, render the blackmailer senseless. The lunatic or tics will thus lose hold on Dettlaff.”

“That’s one idea. Hm. Could be worth a shot, but… what about Dettlaff? He gonna go on killing while I’m out searching for his lover?”

“He will not. I shall convince him to stay his hand, assure him you’re a friend seeking to help. I’ll await him here – he’s sure to return sooner or later.”

“Think he’ll listen?”

“He will.”

“Oughta wait with you, maybe.”

“No. He’ll sense you from a mile off, simply fail to appear. I’d better stay alone, you must trust me on this.”

“You should sleep. I’ll send Thorne to wait with you, she’s mostly bruxa so he should be fine with her. Besides. Knowing her, she’ll be late. I should go with Geralt.”

“Fine. Need to report to the duchess, first.”

“So be it. We’ll await you here. Dettlaff and I both.” Geralt started down the stairs, stopping on the half-landing. He felt an urgent pulling in his chest and back and promptly decided that he needed to ask Regis some things. Clear his head first as it were. He hightailed it back up the staircase and tapped Regis on the shoulder.

“Geralt… I’d never wish to give the impression I do not enjoy your company - the truth is quite the opposite, in fact – however…”

“Yeah, I know. Dettlaff’s not likely to show up long as I’m here. But five minutes won’t hurt, will it?”

“I suppose not. I was wrong to press you to go. You wished to ask something…?”

“Been meaning to ask you... how’d you and Dettlaff meet?”

“Hm, hm. A somewhat… uncomfortable subject.”

“I’m all ears and I got time.”

“As you well know, during my teething years I had a… spell… during which I abused blood. Among vampiric youth I was, all false modestly aside, rather popular. I ran with the plasma crowd. I made a great many acquaintances… one of whom was Dettlaff. But… our paths soon diverged. You see, our band had an appetite for chasing youthful capers. Blood-guzzling contests, that sort of thing – “let’s turn into bats and terrify the ladies.” Dettlaff thought it all foolish. He was right, of course… though I only came to understand this later.”

“Sorry… just can’t imagine you as a young vampire rabble-rouser, renegade, punk.” Geralt chuckled.

“You know of our exceedingly long lifespans… They allow us plenty of time to change. I, for one, thank the gods for that.” Cas laughed.

“Amen to that. I used to be like Dettlaff. Emo, grumpy, emotional, clad-in-black. All Dettlaff needs to complete his look is some black eyeliner.”

“You’re still a toddler in vampire years.” Observed Regis.

“Yet I was a teenager in human years when it happened. I think I still have some of my old punk clothes. Funny to imagine you wearing them.”

“I’ve seen those. Your attitude changes completely when you wear them. I think the last time, you flipped off an innkeep, stole some guy’s girl right from under his nose - literally I might add - , and had a punch up over 'monster rights', all within 3 hours. This is why I don’t allow you to drink.”

"And here I thought it was because of the Lambert incident.”

“Sounds like me in my younger years.” Said Regis, chuckling.

“Just wondering… what if Dettlaff doesn’t show?”

“He’ll show.”

“Ugh… Tell me, how does this work? When I need a short answer, concise, quick, you’re likely to give me a scholarly lecture. But when I could use some details, elaboration, all’s I get is a few grunts. What’s that about?”

“Allow me to explain. When speaking of facts, tangible matters, I do indeed strive to express myself precisely and at length. However, when our discussions centre around affairs of the intuition or things vampiric, my utterances are indeed towards the taciturn. For even the longest discourse would not allow me to explain to my interlocutor any issue for this purview satisfactorily. Therefore, I repeat – Dettlaff will show. Sooner or later.”

“Look Geralt, if you really want a discussion on all things vampiric, I did my share of research before coming here, I don’t know much about a lot of things, but I know a lot about a few things, and I can guess the rest. Most is feeling. To understand you need to feel. But I’m not going to go all Avatar; the last airbender on you. No amount of meditation will make you simply become a vampire.” Cas rambled. Geralt nodded.

“Then I’ll ask you on our way over to the palace. Take care, Regis.”  
Cas wrote a letter and attached it to Junior, sending her on to Thorne. He turned to Regis, making sure Geralt was outside.

“About Yennefer. She dumped Geralt after she learnt something about him that she didn’t like. I can’t tell you without abusing his trust, but think of all the things humans are reluctant to accept, which is pretty much everything, and then apply them one by one to Geralt. Thorne should be here soon. Also, we shall not be returning here, as we will be wanted men. We’ll be at Orianna’s. Meet us there.” Regis hummed, sleepily, and nodded.

“Understood. See you there.”


	4. Wine is Sacred

“Woah there, Roach.” Geralt commanded his horse to stop as they entered the palace. They dismounted and were quickly halted by the guards.

“Who is this?” They pointed to Cas.

“He’s my son. Cas is helping out with the investigation.” The guards looked at him sceptically, but let them through. As they neared the duchess, they heard her and Damien talking.

“Mhm… And what of the funeral preparations?” The duchess asked gravely. 

“As Your Grace wished, the deceased will be buried with the highest honours. And our dearly departed Milton de Peyrac-Peyran shall posthumously receive the Order of Ademarta…” They ascended the steps to a platform, overlooking the land below. A man saw it fit to address them.

“Geralt of Rivia, master witcher and…”

“Son.”

“And son.” The duchess cocked an elegant eyebrow in Cas' direction. He smiled politely and bowed graciously.

“An honour to meet you, Your Grace.”

“Your Grace, Damien, this is Bain Caßiel Piripsol, my son and fellow witcher.”

“Another witcher? How many do you need to complete this?” Damien asked indignantly. 

“I didn’t call him here if that’s what you’re asking. He was simply in the area and decided to help out.”

“As if we need more witchers. I was not mistaken. You arrived and trouble followed soon after.” Damien marched up to Geralt, jabbing a finger in Geralt's chest. Geralt looked at the finger with bland distaste. 

“Step aside. Got a matter for the duchess.” Damien reluctantly stepped aside.

“At last, witcher. We’ve been on tenterhooks! Did you catch Milton’s killer?”

“Case is more serious than we thought. The Beast – I couldn’t kill it, didn’t manage.”

“We send you after a monster, and you return with nothing? We are very disappointed.”

“With all due respect, Your Grace" Cas interjected. "We are witchers, not Gods. There are some things that are devilishly hard to kill, even for us. Higher vampires, for one.” 

“Which is what it is. A powerful one.”

“Pfff, is this a problem? Is it too much for a witcher? A monster slayer? But everyone knows how to end a vampire. Draw him by trick into sunlight. Or arm yourself with ample garlic and drive a stake into his heart.” Damien demonstrated his keen knowledge of the subject.

“I’d like to see you try. Your ignorance is astounding.” Cas jibed, showing thoughtless imprudence. 

“Cas, play nice.” Chided Geralt. “But, Damien, Cas is right. Garlic’s useless against vampires. Sun and stakes don’t hurt ‘em, either. Those methods – pure invention, only work in legends and fables.”

“No, don’t tell him. I actually want to see him fight the beast by pelting him with garlic.”

“And buckthorn? When I was a child, grandmamma Ademarta always claimed buckthorn drives off vampires.”

“It is pretty rank.”

“Silver sword’s your best option for keeping them at bay. But it won’t get the job done – ‘cause only a higher vampire can truly kill another of it’s kind.”

“Excuses… Your Grace. I shall assemble a battue, bring the matter to its end at once. The witcher need but tell us where to find this monster.” Cas laughed.

“That’s suicide and a horrible idea. But go ahead, send them to their death. He’ll wipe them all out within a matter of seconds. But sure. Waste forty men. See if the populace cares when their fathers, sons, brothers, husbands all get slaughtered for something this foolish. You are no leader, Damien. You are a dimwit.” Cas sneered, his disrespectful nature peeking its ugly head into the conversation. His attempt of aristocratic pleasance had already gone right down the rabbit hole. 

“Cas what did I say?” Asked Geralt. “Just because your right doesn't mean you have to be rude about it.”

“To a lone witcher, perhaps it’s a threat.” Damien began. 

“The Beast is a threat to a lone vampire.” Cas muttered.

“To forty of my men at arms, but another skirmish.”

“Forty, fifty, a hundred – doesn’t matter. Won’t make any difference against him.”

“You have not seen my guardsmen in action.”

“Can they fight fog? Hit a target that moves faster than the wind?”

“How… what creature can do such things.”

“Creatures like this one, and, well, this one.” He gestured to Cas.

“Are you trying to get me thrown in jail?" Cas whispered through gritted teeth. "Look, I used to be human, so there’s no telling if I can kill him. And if I tried, I’d probably die. I value my life, thank you very much. I’m not at all like the Beast. I want to catch him as much as you do.”

“Calm down Cas. I just want to get Damien to see what he’s up against if he sends his men out to face him.” Geralt turned to the duchess. “Creatures like the Beast and Cas are called higher vampires. Each one’s a little different… unique or exceptional, you might say. Some transform into giant bats, others communicate with animals, command them.”

“Yet all are still brainless beasts.”

“Say that to my face, shithead.” Challenged Cas. “If the duchess weren’t present I’d have no qualms in beating you so bad you beg for death.”

“Going off-topic. You're thinking of lesser vampires – alps, ekimmaras, katakans, for instance. They’re ruled by instinct, sure. Attack anything that smells of blood. Higher vampires? They think. They employ reason.”

“Monsters driven by reason… A curious contention. What, then, do you intend to do?”

“Call my race monsters again and the Beast won’t be the only vampire you’ll have to worry about.” Cas murmered

“Higher vampires are way beyond being some ‘monster.’ The Beast is a powerful being that’s walked the world for centuries.”

“Impossible. If so great is their power, why have they not killed or enslaved us all.”

“You’re boring and loud pets, as for killing, you make amusing things wandering the world, thinking you're so high and mighty. In other words, free range humans are hilarious." Cas took out his knife and started cleaning his nails. He stalked around the captain."So Damien, tell me. How old am I?”

“You look 15 or 16. Why? I don't see what this has to do with the beast.”

“I’m 33.” Damien’s eyes popped out of his head.

"So while Dettlaff may have walked the world for hundreds of years, but he may look even 40 years old. He would have no trouble wiping everyone in the city out. But we prefer to assimilate because if humans knew then we'd have a hell of a time getting blood for the full moon festivals."

“To answer your question in a way that isn’t sarcastic and is more straight to the point-”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic.” Cas interrupted.

“They don’t usually meddle in our matters. Mostly stay out of our way ‘cause they don’t care about humans one way or the other.”

“And they do not fear we shall wipe them out one day?” Cas burst into laughter.

“Take Cas for example. This is the reaction you would get from any vampire if they heard you say that. They’re well aware of their strength.”

“Then what can we do? Do you have a plan?”

“Try to talk to him – that’s our best bet.”

“I cannot believe this… Her Grace summons a witcher to kill a monster. Instead, he wishes to chat with it!”

“Know what I’m doing. His lover was kidnapped. He’s being blackmailed.”

“Blackmailed? Be so kind to explain how a vampire can be blackmailed.”

“Your Grace, if you’d do me an enormous favour. Look at me. Do I seem in any way, not human?”

“No, I had thought you one before you brought to light your race.”

“I’m just like a human. As you can see with my conversation with Damien, I am motivated by emotions, not instinct. If I we’re driven by instinct, Damien would be dead, probably bleeding out, and I would be having a lovely time, drinking his blood.”

“What Cas is trying to say is not only are higher vampires intelligent to an extreme, they’re emotionally… rich, capable of feeling many things. Even love.”

“Why thank you.” Said Cas, bowing slightly to Geralt.

“This vampire, the Beast, fell in love with a woman, a human. And he’ll do anything to keep her from harm.”

“You do not, I trust, suggest we let Milton’s killer go free? Or wait until it murders again? We must render it harmless as quickly as possible.”

“Which is why that’s my aim now – to prevent further attacks. Vampire’s only half the problem. Blackmailer’s at fault, chiefly. Kidnapped the woman to control the vampire.”

“And what do you propose to do?” Asked the duchess.

“I’ll find the blackmailer, free the vampire’s lover.”

“You were to destroy him, not help him.”

“And you were to listen to Geralt’s council, not shut him down. We can’t kill this creature, but once we catch him, I have an idea. We have cages to trap him. We will put him in one of those to rot and think about all the pain he wrought. I daresay it’s a more fitting punishment. Death would be premature and painless. However, this is a second resort, if we find a vampire who can kill other vampires, and doesn’t mind breaking vampiric law and being hounded all his life, then sure, we’ll kill him.”

“Cas.” Geralt said in a warning tone.

“You know what, I'm the only one giving a reasonable solution here, so if you need me I’ll be up there in my anger management bubble.” Cas pointed to a tower roof top. And, turning swiftly on a heel, ran at the building, transforming last second into black mist, and floating up the tower to the roof where he became humanoid again and sat down. The duchess was enraged, but remembered well that Cas could kill her any time he wanted and couldn’t be killed himself. Geralt sighed.

“Cas has a point, no one else should die - that’s most important. Soon as the woman’s safe, he’ll have no more reason to kill.”

“Hmm… I admit to being swayed, witcher. You, and your somewhat... barbaric... child, may be right… Do you know anything about the blackmailer?”

“Got one lead – a few scraps of paper. Blackmailer wrote the names of the vampire’s victims on them. One of them’s stained – a drop of wine, looks like… So damn little to go on.”

“You’ve no idea how wrong you are, my dear. Send for the ducal sommelier! Hop hop!” One of her subjects ran to find him. “In Toussaint, wine is sacred. Here there is no just thing as ‘a drop of wine’ or stains therefrom. They are stains from a drop of Est Est, Erveluce, Fiorano…”

“Your Grace wished to see me?”

“Witcher, show him the paper scrap.” Geralt was reluctant, but handed over the paper anyway.

“Benoit, can you determine which wine made this stain?” The sommelier sniffed the paper.

“Mhm… mm… yes, yes… The west bank of the Sansretour, that’s rather obvious. Aged in barrels of Beauclair oak… Hue – deep burgundy, clarity – high… It’s simple. Sangreal. The 1269 vintage.”

“That’s… That’s impossible. The wine is produced at the Castel Ravello. Especially and exclusively for the ducal table… Perhaps some Sangreal was stolen? We must go to the vineyard, see if there’s not been an incident.” The duchess concluded.

“Sangreal – never heard of it.” Confessed Geralt.

“It’s highly unlikely you’ve ever had a chance to partake of it. As I said, it is only ever served to the ducal family.”

“Didn’t stop it from ending up on that scrap of paper… unless, Your Grace’s sommelier is mistaken.”

“In matters of wine, Benoit is never mistaken. If he says it’s Sangreal, _it is_ Sangreal. We must ride to Castel Ravello at once, discover what has happened.”

“Wait… Your Grace wants to go with me? Out of the question.”

“You can’t order her around, Geralt. Besides, she’s commanding and invaluable to this mission.” Cas said, landing gracefully next to Geralt.

“It seems your manners have returned, young witcher.”

“Indeed they have, Your Grace.” She turned to Geralt.

“I hope you do not suppose we will sit on our ducal hiney and do nothing while our duchy is in grave danger?”

“Your Grace, what you propose is far too dangerous. The witchers should go alone…” Interjected Damien.

“It pleases me to see you gentlemen finally agree on something, but I’ve made my decision. We shall go, accompanied by the best possible escorts – you captain, and the two witchers. We will travel incognito. We’ve no wish to give the court any reason to gossip… For the duration of this mission I release you from your obligation to adhere to court protocol, not that you were doing so in the first place, Caßiel.” Cas shrugged.

“Just Cas is fine, Your Grace. Please forgive my insolence. As much as I don’t care for most human customs, I don’t know how to conduct myself in these situations, or around one as lovely, and powerful as you.”

“Turned into a right gentleman in a matter of minutes, Cas. Been getting lessons from Regis?”

“In a way.”

“Yes, you’ve improved a great deal. For this mission, I am Anna Henrietta, not Your Grace.”

“Yes, Your Grace! Err. Witcher, are you ready?” Asked Damien clumsily.

“Yeah. Ready to go.”

“Excellent. Give me a moment – I must don something more appropriate, and concealing. Then we will be off.” The duchess walked away swiftly, and the remaining men readied their horses. They set off later that night.

*Meanwhile*

“Yo!” Thorne awkwardly saluted Regis.

“Y-yo?” Regis shook his head, baffled.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” Thorne dismissed, taking the chair at Regis' bedside. Regis had made a cozy hole with the blankets, and was trying very hard not to fall asleep.

“So I'm told that you’re a bruxa.”

“Kinda.”

“How is that even possible to be ‘kinda’ a bruxa?”

“Hush. No screams, only dreams now.” Regis raised a baffled eyebrow, but with no clue what else to do, obeyed her command.

“Oh.” Said Thorne, deciding that sleep was, in fact, a brilliant idea.

*

“What are you doing in my house?”

“CAPITALISM IS A SCAM!” Thorne screamed as she awoke.

“I’m sorry?”

“I'm not a communist, I swear.” She reached absentmindedly into her bag for some salt and vinegar chips.

“Dettlaff.” Regis spoke up from his fortress of blankets. Dettlaff laughed at him.

“Brother. What are you doing?” He reached down and hauled Regis up into a sitting position. “I smell a human has been here recently, as well as another higher vampire. Was it, perchance, the one that is hunting me?”

“Perhaps. Though I prefer to call him my mate, though the bond is not complete, true.” Thorne made a screeching noise with her mouth shut.

“Mate? Yes, I smell it now. Why does the bruxa screech so?”

“I don’t… know?” Cautioned Thorne, uncertainly. Dettlaff, only now, had a chance to really look at her. Her hair was longer than it once was, mid back at least. Her bruxa genes had refined her features, making them more cat-like, matching her witcher eyes. Dettlaff was struck, and immediately uncomfortable.

“Yo?”

“Y-Yo?” Thorne shook her head in amusement. 

“Maybe we should move on?”

“Yes, correct. Dettlaff, I have managed to persuade Geralt that you are not at fault for the killings, he’s willing to help you rescue Rhenawedd.”

“You know?” Dettlaff concluded, he stole a glance at Thorne, guilty.

“I'm sorry to say that we may have snooped around. Geralt was hell bent on getting proof that you were fully responsible for the murders. Upon investigation of the evidence, he concluded that the blackmailer was at fault.” Regis said, smiling proudly.

“I thank you, Regis, for persuading your mate that I am no monster.”

“It is acceptable to call him my mate now, but he doesn’t know. He can't know. So when we’re around him, please call him Geralt.”

“I understand. You should tell him.”

“I will. When the time is right.”

“It is killing you, Regis.”

“Let's not discuss this. Please.”

“Maybe you will want to discuss this, though. I smelt some familiar scents in town. It seems our little group has had children, and they are just as... rambunctious as their parents.”

“Another gang? Why here?”

“I do not know, but it seems the young vampire who was here sometimes joins them.” Thorne was aware that this was a privet conversation, but eavesdropping was her forté.

“He said he didn’t drink blood.”

“It seems he has a human understanding of... deception.”

“I doubt he’d want to talk to Geralt about it, yes. If it’s an addiction, I doubt he’d talk about it at all.” Dettlaff looked at Thorne.

“Do you drink?”

“Uhm… yeah? I can’t get addicted though.” She admitted, shaking her head.

“Cas is part of your group, yes?” Asked Regis.

“Yeah.”

“Is it possible he was just curious, or peer pressure forced him into it. Or has he fallen in with the wrong crowd?”

“Probably curious.” Thorne affirmed, nodding. Regis decided to talk to Cas later. Perhaps Geralt should know too.

*Meanwhile on the road to Castel Ravello*

“This vampire… have you ever faced it’s sort before?” Asked Damien.

“I have.” Geralt answered curtly.

“How did it end? Did you kill it?” Asked the duchess. Cas murmured an almost unintelligible insult towards the duchess. ‘If you’d been fucking listening you would know that we can’t fucking kill them.’

“Didn’t have to fight him. Hadn’t killed anyone.”

“Have you ever heard of anyone defeating such a vampire?”

“Know of a man who defeated one, sure, but he didn’t manage to kill it. Ultimately, only another vampire can kill a vampire.” They rode in silence for a while, Geralt enjoying the sweet, sweet moments where he didn't hear Cas' voice. They were nearing Castel Ravello when they heard a commotion on the road ahead. 

“Panthers have attacked the wagon! We must help!” The duchess yelled.

“Stay back, Your Grace! We shall see to this.” Damien demanded, drawing his sword and dashing towards the nearest panther.

“Damien, get it though your thick skull, she’s Anna Henrietta. Not Your Grace.” Cas chided. Damien huffed indignantly and began hacking at a panther. Cas shoved him out of the way and easily dodged it’s claws, sinking his blade into the beast's back.

“You are so... clumsy. How do you humans even manage? Don't hack and slash. Put it where it'll kill it and push for Chist's sake.” There was a howl from the other panther as Geralt twisted his sword in it’s gut. He pulled it out and swiftly and swung it mightily. The panther's head hit the ground with a sickening thud. 

“Done. Time to move on.” Geralt said decidedly. Cas nodded and attempted to wipe the blood from his face, but just managed to smear it across his forehead.

“They were fortunate we happened by.” Admitted Anarietta as they rode off towards Castel Ravello once again.

“Tell me more about this vineyard – Castel Ravello.” Asked Geralt.

“It’s the best in all Toussaint. An old master of the winemaking trade runs it – Fabricio.”

“He trustworthy?”

“I wouldn’t bet on it.” Scoffed Cas.

“He’s held his post for years. There’s never been a problem till now… I wish to know your thoughts, Geralt. The Sangreal stain – how did it wind up on the paper? Is someone from the vineyard blackmailing the vampire?”

“Could be a servant, could be the steward… Could be wine was just stolen from the estate?”

“Or sold.” Cas added.

“We shall know when we arrive. It’s not far now.” They were there within a matter of seconds. They dismounted and strolled into the garden where Fabricio was idling.

“Captain de la Tour! We did not expect any visitors from the palace. How are affairs at court?”

“Doubtless you’ve heard of the Beast of Beauclair. Well, we’ve our hands full. Especially since the rogue last attacked in the palace gardens.”

“I.. trust Her Illustrious Highness was not harmed…?”

“Kind of you to ask, Master Fabricio. I am well.” Anarietta spoke up from behind Damien.

“Your… Your Grace…? We were not warned. I shall order the salon prepared at once.”

“That wont be necessary. As you can see, we are not here on an official visit.”

“Naturally." Fabricio conceded, collecting himself from his earlier panic. "Might I ask, then, what has brought you to Castel Ravello?”

“This is an inspection. We’ve got questions. You’ll answer them.” Said Geralt.

“Honestly. Sparing no detail.” Cas added on, squaring his shoulders.

“And who are you two to speak to me this way?”

“This is Geralt of Rivia, a witcher. He has come to Toussaint on my personal invitation. And this is Caßiel, Geralt’s son, also a witcher.”

“And your worst nightmare if you don’t do what I say, when I say it. Capiche?”

“I expect you to treat them with the utmost respect. Even if this one," she motioned to Cas, "Does not do the same for you.”

“Of… of course, Your Grace.”

“Did you hear that, witchers? Fabricio will be delighted to answer your every question.”

“Wanna talk about Sangreal.” Said Geralt.

“I am at your service.” Fabricio answered awkwardly. Cas pounced on this opportunity.

“I have it under good authority that you sold a barrel of Sangreal. How much for?”

“I don’t know what you're…” Cas elongated his claws and pressed one on Fabricio’s neck. The duchess gasped breathily in shock but managed to keep her demeanour intact. 

“He knows what he’s doing. Just play along.” whispered Geralt, gently. Anarietta nodded.

“You are a step away from losing your head. Speak the truth and you might yet keep it.” Said the duchess.

“I… I admit it! I sold a barrel of S-sangreal… I beg you to forgive me.”

“How. Much?” Cas asked through gritted teeth. Fabricio screamed as the claw nicked his flesh.

“5000 crowns! 5000!” Cas’ claws retracted.

“Only that much? That’s like 25 monster hunts.” Cas said, doing the math on his fingers.

“Well, that was easy.” Said Geralt. “Thank the gods for your ‘future vision’, whatever that is.” The duchess slapped Fabricio.

“Master Fabricio. I am very disappointed. Why did you do it?”

“I couldn’t resist… The sum they offered, it was enormous. I gave in…”

“Because 5000 crowns is such an enormous sum. Look, sweetheart, it couldn’t buy you a fucking renovation, let alone a plot of land, which is what you were going for, right?” Said Cas condescendingly

“Is what I provide not enough?” The duchess asked angrily.

“I wished to buy back my family’s estate. For here, nothing is truly mine. I’ve a roof over my head, ample food to eat, but… what is a nobleman without land of his own?”

“A nobleman without land of his own should be grateful to the duchess for providing land. Have some perspective.” Fumed Cas, almost as angry as the duchess was.

“I shall tell you everything, if you agree to show me mercy…”

“Who’d you sell the wine to?” Asked Geralt.

“A few weeks past at the Pheasantry a rich nobleman approached me. He called himself a diplomat, well-connected at court. He suggested we embark on an enterprise. Some of his ‘clients’ had offered dizzying sums for ever a drop of Sangreal… He was to serve as intermediary.”

“This man’s name.” Demanded the duchess.

“He never revealed it. He was tall, black haired and spoke with a foreign lilt. He claimed to hail from Cintra.”

“I’ve no Cintrian aristocrat at court.”

“Really thought nobody’d find out?” Asked Geralt.

“I was a fool, very foolish. I beg you, Your Grace, you must forgive me.”

“It seems you are still a fool. Take responsibility for your actions, man. Do not beg, it dishonors you even more. I also know that you’ve another barrel to deliver.” Cas warned, stepping into his space. The duchess glared angrily at Fabricio.

“Wine itself – how’d you hand it over?” Geralt pressed.

“We met under the cover of darkness in the ruins of Fort Astre. A dozen or so men came to collect. Armed men, the kind that stink of trouble. I had hauled the barrel there, they transferred it to their cart, and we went our separate ways.”

“That’s it? That the last you ever saw of them?”

“They… That is to say, a few days past a messenger arrived. He said they wish to buy another barrel and… well, the other witcher is right, I’ve prepared it, have it ready to deliver.”

“That’s enough. Know all we need to know.” Geralt said, turning towards the duchess.

“Your Grace… I beg your forgiveness…” Grovelled Fabricio.

“Get out of my sight.” Sneered the duchess. Cas leant against the man, taking a feather from his hat.

“Wise up dude. Didn't your mama tell you not to fuck with a powerful lady?” Cas pushed off him, toppling him to the ground.

“Captain, have your men take Master Fabricio to the dungeon. He must answer for his crime – high treason the charge. What now, witcher.” The duchess asked, addressing Geralt.

“We set a trap. Need to catch the wine thieves – Cintrian noble could be our blackmailer. Next transport – I’ll take it to Fort Astre. Damien and his soldiers’ll cover me.”

“For once, I agree with you. We will do as you say. Let me know when you are ready.” Said Damien, Geralt was shocked.

“Don’t think you’re going without me.” Said Cas. “I can mist along under the wagon. The wine thieves won’t even notice.” Geralt nodded, remembering that Cas’ mist was pitch black, blends in perfectly with shadows.

“See no reason to wait. Let’s get going.”

“We will set out now, position ourselves before you arrive. You take the cart and meet us there.” Said Damien.

“Fine. When the handoff begins, watch for my signal.”

*

Geralt drove the cart into the ruins of Fort Astre. Stopping where he judged to be the middle. The horses were jumpy. Probably because of Cas who was still under the wagon. “Relax. Now we wait.”

*

The moon shone high over their heads by the time the men showed up. They stopped just in front of the cart. Geralt was concealed from their vision behind a horse. “Ah, our favourite vintner.” Geralt walked out from behind the horses and stopped, facing the head guy.

“It’s not him.” The man growled, literally half a second before an arrow pierced his archer’s chest. They drew their swords as he ducal guard closed in around them, they weren’t going down without a fight. Cas floated between the fighting, to his right, Geralt was spinning and twirling, slaying man after man. To his left, six guards were stationed around one guy, all trying to kill him, and failing miserably. Cas formed into his normal body, drawing his sword and following Geralt’s lead. At this point, several people were on fire and the blood flow was profuse. Cas shoved his clawed hand into someone’s chest and pulled out their heart. The smell was overwhelming. He struggled to keep himself in check, his form reasonably human. He felt his head start to go groggy and his vision start to cloud. He gritted his teeth together and brought his hands to his head. A blood splatter hit him in the face. He gasped as he passed out, like he had the night of Tesham Mutna. The last thing he saw was Geralt behead the bandit leader. They had won.

*

“Cas?” Geralt asked, sheathing his sword. He looked around to see him passed out, cold, in a puddle of someone else’s blood. He turned him over to see him clutching the heart of one of the bandits. “God dammit. What have you gotten yourself into?” Geralt wrenched the heart from Cas’ claws and put him on the cart. He turned to face Damien.

“Is it just me, or did we agree you’d wait for my signal?”

“That was the plan, but…”

“Great shot. Good thing you reacted. Can’t say how that would’ve ended otherwise.”

“At your service. It was a good fight. We managed to capture one of the scoundrels.”

“Lets ask him a few questions. C’mon.”

“Witcher, a moment… I was wrong about you.”

“Well, had no reason to trust me. And I didn’t do much to change that. Cas certainly didn’t help either.”

“True, neither of you are the most endearing of men. At any rate, I see the effort you put forth. And I appreciate it.” Geralt nodded at Damien. “Let us go to Her Grace. She awaits nearby. “

“Wait… she here?”

“Of course she’s here. Did you really expect her not to come?” Asked a barely conscious Cas. He tried to get up and walk but quickly fell over. They helped him back onto the cart. The duchess appeared on the top floor of the nearly demolished building.

“I hope you did not think I would leave this to you alone? Especially when every hour could prove essential. This prisoner of yours, bring him to me. We must ask him some questions…” Damien escorted the prisoner up the stairs to the ledge on which the duchess was waiting. The man was bald, had some charming prison tattoos, and an arrow stuck in his shoulder.

“Captain, do the honours.” Damien kicked the man in the back of his knee, forcing him to kneel.

“Who sent you?” He asked. The man spat.

“His name is dog. They say he ploughed your mother.” Damien backhanded him with his heavy metal gauntlet.

“Once again – who sent you?”

“Your nan’s lover! They call him…” Damien grabbed the arrow, forcing it through his shoulder. He twisted it. The man yelled in agony, voice gurgling with the strain.

“Wait… if he does not wish to speak, he needn’t. I can think of several other ways he can be helpful.” Observed the duchess. “I’m certain the witcher will need bait to lure the Beast of Beauclair.” The man's eyes grew wide, jaw going slack.

“Wha… what?” Geralt walked up to him and looked down into the man’s eyes.

“Sure can, fresh out.”

“In that case, he is all yours.” Said the duchess.

“Captain, have your men find me a strong rope. Kind that won’t snap when we hang this fellow from a tree…”

“R-rope?” Geralt started slowly circling the man.

“Live bait – great for monsters. Provided they catch the scent of its blood. But I’ll see to that.”

“What…?! No! Crikey, no! Don’t let him…!” Geralt walked in front of the prisoner.

“Stop screaming, save your strength. Got a long night ahead of you.”

“No! Don’t let him…! I’ll talk!”

“Barrels – where were you gonna take them?” Asked Geralt.

“I don’t know…”

“Captain, need that rope after all…”

“I truly don’t know! Hornitz, the leader, only he ever knew where to go. But he lies over there, dead. That one. The first barrel went to a warehouse at the port. But where this one was bound I don’t know. I speak true. You must believe me.”

“Who hired you?” Geralt asked, deciding to move the conversation along.

“He… he’ll kill me.” Geralt crouched down in front of the prisoner.

“Oughta be worried about me right now. Who is he?”

“Go on, man. Spit it out.” Demanded Damien.

“The Cintrian – that is what they call him. I’ve never seen him. But I know he mustered the men for this caper. That’s what they said. That we were working for the Cintrian. I don’t know anything else, I swear it.”

“Take him away, throw him in the dungeon. He shall await trial there. Captain, we ride to town. Gather your men and seek out this Cintrian. Someone else must have seen him, must know of him.”

“Yes, Your Grace! I’ll report to the palace as soon as I learn anything.”

“I shan’t return to the palace; our mission has not yet ended. The witchers and I will await you at the guard post near the port.”

“Let’s go to town.” Said Geralt.

*

Anarietta was pacing. Damien had not returned yet. Geralt found this annoying as he was trying to meditate and Cas was trying to sleep off whatever had happened to him back there. “He’s late…” Observed Anarietta.

“No shit, captain obvious. Now let me sleep.” Grumbled Cas, ever the charmer.

“Relax. He’ll come.” Affirmed Geralt, not bothering to open his eyes.

“There’s something I’d like to know… How can you be so damned calm?”

“Side effect of my mutations – we witchers rarely get the jitters.”

“Lies.” Said Cas. “Its not the mutations. It’s the training and shit we’ve seen.” He finally sat up, leaning his groggy head against the wall.

“What if something has happened to him…?”

“Captain seems like a man who can take care of himself.”

“Perhaps he can, but this Cintrian appears to be no common bandit… He managed to steal ducal wine from under my guardsmen’s noses. We only learned of it through a fortunate coincidence.”

“I would’ve eventually brought it to light. For a modest sum.” Teased Cas. Anarietta was not amused.

“And it was he who specified the victims for the vampire. One must be exceptionally confident to blackmail such a monster.”

“Again, not a monster.”

“Still don’t know this Cintrian’s behind the kidnapping and blackmail. Might’ve just handled the theft of the wine.” Geralt finally opened his eyes to look at the duchess.

“Even if it’s so, he then sold the wine to the blackmailers. As I see it, that makes him an accomplice.”

“Need to find the Cintrian – whether or not he’s responsible for the murders. Even if none of it’s his doing, he could still know our blackmailer’s identity. Besides, it’s one thing to know who ordered the killings. Other thing entirely, and just as important, is why they...” Geralt stopped mid sentence. “Someone’s coming.” He jumped up, knife flying out of his belt and into his waiting hand. Anarietta drew her knife also, a pretty little dagger with a jewel encrusted handle. She flattened her back to the wall. A tense moment passed before Damien walked through the door. Anarietta was quick to pounce on him.

“Captain, why so long? We expected you hours ago.”

“This Cintrian does not work alone. We are fighting an organisation, not one man. Bandits attacked us, not a small force, either. One of my boys has a broken arm, another, a shattered knee… lamed for life. And the word on the street is there’s a hefty bounty on your head, Geralt…”

“Used to it. Not the first time I’ve been hunted.”

“Regis won’t be happy about this.” Warned Cas.

“Shut it.”

“Must you always…? Now… The port warehouse where the wine was delivered – we identified it, then learned who had hired it out. This proved to be a beggar, a stand-in. We found him, he admitted all. A man had paid him to sign the lease, a man he met while begging outside the Pheasantry. There, fate lent us a hand. A waitress recalled spilling wine on a nobleman who spoke with a Cintrian accent…”

“What’d he look like?” Geralt asked.

“Her description was not helpful – handsome, well-dressed, with a beard, no distinguishing marks. This could be anyone. But she remembered his female companion very well, as she recognised her. On the Cintrian’s arm was Cecilia Bellant.”

“The singer? I’ve heard of her. She is said to be gifted, very.” The duchess stated.

“The same. We went to her home immediately. Cecilia was not there, but we questioned her servants. A chambermaid claimed Cecilia is to meet a Cintrian gentleman tonight. She’d invited him to a reception mounted by The Mandragora.”

“The Mandragora – what’s that?”

“And to think I was going to invite you and Regis to come along with my friends and I tonight.” Cas shook his head. “I’ll let Anarietta explain.”

“It’s a club, an affiliation of local artists. Painters, sculptors, troubadours and dancers.”

“Never heard of it.”

“They exude a mystique – consciously, I think – behaving like an exclusive cabal, artistic elites. Every now and again they mount soirées. Only wealthy patrons are invited. All arrive in elaborate masks, then drink and flirt.”

“Wealthy patrons? Then tell me, Cas – how’d you get invited?” Asked Geralt.

“I’ve got connections. Say, Orianna.” The duchess looked surprised. “She’s Thorne’s adoptive mother. They’ll be there tonight.”

“Gotta nab the Cintrian. Seems we have to go to that get-together…”

“Like I was planning to do anything else tonight.” Cas deadpanned sarcastically.

“You read my mind witcher. I shall gather my men, surround the establishment. Not a mouse will squeeze through.”

“Out of the question! If the Cintrian truly does have men about the city, he will find out and escape once again.”

“Duchess is right. Need to be careful. Best go there, blend in with the crowd.”

“Precisely what we shall do.”

“We, Your Grace?”

“Oh, will you stop acting like you can order her about Damien. Of course she’s going. You don’t think she’s gonna wait this one out? Besides, the place will be positively crawling with witchers. Well, there’ll be four of us at the very least.”

“Yes, by we, Captain, I mean Geralt and I. In that sort of company, all five witchers could use my help.”

“Oi. I can be gentlemanly when the mood strikes me. I just don’t feel like it when I’m talking to you or Damien.”

“Where’s the event gonna be held?”

“The Mandragora always assembles at the same place – a residence in Hauteville. It’s a very distinguished district. You must don appropriate attire. Then meet me in Hauteville, in Mountebank Alley.” Anarietta and Damien left the guard post, leaving Geralt and Cas behind.

“Well, Geralt. A robe? Nilfgaardian formal? Beauclair formal? Or Skelligan formal? Oh man if Dandelion could only see the look on your face right now!” Cas laughed.


	5. The Man from Cintra

Cas dragged a reluctant Geralt out into the street, insisting dutifully that formalwear was indeed required to attend such an event. Once in the street Cas dawdled behind busying himself with attempting to attach a message to Junior. Geralt stopped abruptly in his tracks prompting Cas to look up. There were three bandits at the end of the street, attention unwaveringly on Geralt. “It’s him! Get him!” Yelled one, leading the charge against the witchers. Junior squawked and rushed off, a flurry of black feathers. The witchers shared a look as they drew their swords, spinning them loosely in hand. Cas locked eyes with the bandit leader, reading his stance for impact. The leader's sword came at him in a great swooping slash, but Cas dodged out of the way, bringing his sword down on the bandit's back, slicing clean through his spinal cord. Geralt had skewered another bandit through the middle. He used his arm to push the brigand off his sword. He fell with a heavy thud, painting the ground with his slick blood. Geralt pivoted and threw his knife, lightly grazing Cas' ear. Cas turned to follow its trajectory, right into the forehead of a bandit whose sword was seconds away from spearing Cas. The young witcher breathed heavily, sending a silent nod of thanks towards Geralt. Cas walked smoothly over to the head bandit,  rifling through his pockets. Geralt looked on with quiet fascination. 

“A-hah!” Cas cried as he pulled out a roll of parchment out of the pocket. He unfurled it to reveal a rather detailed drawing of Geralt's face. “Good drawing. Got your nose right and everything.” He gave Geralt the parchment. The elder witcher put it in his own pocket, deciding to hang it up at Corvo Bianco.

Cas lead Geralt to a tailor’s workshop, forcing him into a doublet. ‘To attract Regis.’ Geralt told him to fuck off. The tailor was rude and arrogant. Not at all like Elihal. But Geralt did survive (barely) and managed to find a decant doublet.

“Are you going to wear anything formal? You fucking better after the shit you put me through.”

“Sure I am. I’ve got a robe, haven’t I?” He slipped into the back of the shop to get changed.

*

“Late… Now why’s that not surprise me?” Sighed Geralt. Cas and he sat down on the steps of a building in the alleyway, waiting for everyone to turn up. First was Imara. She was in a blue dress, similar to Anarietta’s but still allowed for movement. Cas didn’t doubt for a second that she could still fight in it. She sat down on the steps with them to wait. Next to arrive was Thorne, claiming that Regis and Dettlaff would be here shortly. She wore a black dress, it was oddly reminiscent of Morticia's dress from The Addams family, but it trailed along the ground behind her.

“Fit for Queen Raziel.” Complimented Cas. Dettlaff showed up next, not having changed. He stood awkwardly in the corner, occasionally staring at Thorne. Regis arrived next, tight Beauclair formalwear, similar to what Geralt was wearing, left very little to the imagination. Geralt was flustered, and his throat was dry, but he attempted to compliment Regis anyway.

“You look..." He stumbled. "Dashing.”

“Why thank you Geralt, I return the sentiment.” Regis felt good about himself. A commotion drew their attention from the awkward duo. Out of the alleyway tumbled two figures. One in a bright Skellige tunic and the other in Nilfgaardian formalwear.

“Dashiell? Bryan?” The words hung in the air.

“Yo, yo, daddy-o!” Bryan greeted, shooting them with finger guns. Dashiell stood awkwardly by his side, sending a small wave in greeting.

“Ayyy! More witchers! All we need is Lambert, Eskal, and Vesemir!”

“Don’t forget Letho!” Added Thorne.

“And Aiden.” Imara said, touching her amulet. Cas turned to Bryan and Dashiell.

“You’ve no choice now, you have to come with us to the club!”

“Well where did you think we were going?” Asked Dashiell.

“Do you wanna know?” Cas asked, smiling coyly. A beat passed in silence. 

“Yes!” He yelled, wringing his hands. 

*

Anarietta was hours late. Everyone had caught up, Dettlaff had, reluctantly, joined the group, had even cracked a joke or two. Regis and Geralt were sitting, well, practically in each other’s laps, and they were all telling stories of their times apart. “Had a siren contract in Skellige,” Said Thorne, recounting her journey. “Tracked the thing for days, but the strangest part is that this siren had legs, and was fucking hard to find. Finally found her, in a camp, singing show tunes.”

“What did you do to get a contract on your head, Im?” Asked Cas.

“I used my voice instead of Axii. Made a woman take back a nithing directed at a child. She put out the contract.”

“Ah, yeah. Bryan and I had to finish that contract. The lady’s dead.” Offered Cas. “What about you, Bryan. How’s the theatre?”

“Fantastic! We performed the senpai song.”

“No.” Imara breathed in disbelief. Thorne made a screeching sound, slapping her knees. Dashiell face-palmed.

“I think you two should do a duet. Like, I don't know, Homecoming” Announced Cas.

“Nah. Death Grips.” Countered Dashiell at he same time Bryan yelled his consent.

“Maybe you should all make a group, sing at the place. I know your songs are a bit weird, but the crowd might like it.” Offered Geralt.

“Ooh!” Thorne said, smiling knowingly at the rest of the group.

“I heard your singing.” Commented Regis. “It is indeed weird.”

“I forgot that you can hear me. Do you sing, Regis?”

“I can sing. Though I don’t.” He said.

“Come on, Regis. Even I sing.” Said Geralt.

“Let’s make a witcher vocal group!” Exclaimed Imara excitedly.

“I’ll leave that to you young witchers to sing your weird songs.”

“Your loss. I think you and Regis should sing together.” Proposed Cas. Approval came from the rest of the witchers.

“You think?” Asked Geralt.

"Of course, it'll be great." Cas needn't mention that Geralt can't sing for shit. Regis would find that out sooner or later. Just then Anarietta appeared.

“This is a quaint little gathering.” They all turned to her. She held 7 masks, all piled up in her hand. She looked at Geralt. “Well, well… I did not expect you to such a sense of style.”

“I don’t. This was Cas’ idea.”

“I see he used all his fashion sense on you, then. A witcher in a robe… I last saw attire like this years ago, in Redania.”

“Is it offensive? Inappropriate for the evening? Not a good fit?” Asked Cas.

“It’s a wonderful fit, a nice red, but you’re sure to stand out. No one wears such things around here. Not all bad… Nothing like a budding artist, of course. Just one other detail, put it on.” Said the duchess. She handed out the masks, making sure to match them to the person’s attire.

“A mask?” Asked Geralt.

“All who attend a Mandragora soirée wear them. If you have one on, no one asks who you are.” Informed Regis, taking one from the duchess.

“Regis, I did not know you were in Beauclair.” The duchess confessed.

“You didn’t?” Regis looked pointedly at Geralt.

“Didn’t have time to bring it up. Any idea why they wear masks?”

“Likely because they imagine it is oh so very romantic and mysterious…” Explained Anarietta. “The truth is far simpler – this way no one can tell which are drunken aristocrats are pinching the performers.” Geralt nodded, shifting awkwardly and accidentally brushing up against Regis.

“Let’s go, soirée’s started.”

“Yeah, like hours ago.” Complained Cas, pushing through the crowd.

*

“How do we find the Cintrian? Have you a plan?” Anarietta asked.

“Key is…” Started Geralt.

“I’ll do it.” Interuppted Thorne.

“It is best. You can do it without raising suspicion. Once you’ve found him, come back down and the soirée can continue like normal. Try not to kill him. Capturing will suffice.” Cas said. _Okay. New plan, it seems_. Thorne nodded. They approached the gate and its keeper.

“Madame Thorne. You and your guests are welcome, always.”

“I live here. Of course I’m welcome.” They made their way into the large garden.

“Well, well… Dandelion’s always complaining about artists being poor as temple mice.”

“We are.” Said Bryan.

“This doesn’t belong to the artists. It belongs to my mother. Orianna. In the black dress. There, on the balcony.”

“Doesn’t wear a mask?” Asked Geralt.

“It’d be pointless. Everyone knows her.” Explained Regis.

“You know her?”

“We both do.” Affirmed Dettlaff, still frowning. They made their way into the already tipsy crowd. Thorne broke off from the group to find the Cintrian, leaving them to their own devices. Geralt tried his hand at bomb painting. He drew a dick.

“What do you think? I call it ‘Lambert’.” Said Geralt proudly. Cas laughed. They mucked around with the mimes, and forced Dettlaff into an impromptu karaoke session. Their festivities lead them to a side room which were advertised by the servers as quiet places to chat, a perfect environment for those with sensitive hearing. unthinkingly, they entered one only to hear a high pitched scream and to dodge a flurry of thrown paintbrushes. Thorne rejoined them, sighing as they frantically explained the 'painted nudes' incident.

“Cas!” Someone yelled across the yard. The group turned to see a group of people sauntering towards them. Regis and Dettlaff recognised them immediately as higher vampires.

“Hey. What’re you doing here?” Cas asked, clasping hands with one of the vampires.

“Hoping for a light snack. You wouldn’t be able to work some of your magic to get us one?” The vampire slung an arm around Cas's shoulders familiarly. Cas glanced at Regis guiltily and motioned that he just needed a minute. Thorne and Imara came with him when he went off with the other group.

“A bruxa and a human? You choose interesting company.”

“They are interesting, Koel, but I wouldn’t try to taste Imara. Witchers don’t usually take kindly to that.” Koel smirked slyly.

“You did." Cas shoved the other vampire's arm off his shoulders. "C’mon. See anyone?” Cas grunted and went over to the nearest girl. He spilt wine on her dress.

“Oh, pardon me, ma’am. I am so sorry. Oh, your dress! Come, lets get you dried off.” Koel, Thorne, and Imara followed at a safe distance. Regis and Geralt followed at a safer one. Cas grabbed a handkerchief out of a bard's pocket and lead the lady to a secluded room.

“I’m so sorry, I’m not usually like this you see, but with the malnourishment, it seems I am getting ever clumsier.” He lied.

“Poor thing. Why not have some food?”

“I would, but you see I can’t eat human food.”

“Pardon?” Cas feigned shock, opening his eyes almost comically wide.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No.” Said the lady. “Tell me, what are you. I won’t judge.” Cas looked around as if checking that no one was watching and then lifted his lip to show off his fangs.

“A vampire. Why, how romantic.”

“You think so?” Asked Cas shyly. Koel made a retching motion in the background.

“Look, I’ll give you some of my blood, but you mustn’t tell anyone. This can be our little secret.”

“Of course,” said Cas. “I’ll be forever in your debt.” He handed her a few vials and a knife. “I’ll heal you once you’re done.” She hesitated, but looked into his pleading eyes and hardened her resolve. She slit her wrist with the knife and bled into the vials. She handed them to Cas, who in turn, grabbed her wrist and licked it, healing it easily.

“Healing saliva, comes in useful sometimes. I will be forever in your debt, madame.” He kissed her on the cheek and went on his merry way. He watched his donor fade into the crowd before passing one of the vials to Koel.

“You still got it, Cas.” Koel complimented, clapping Cas on the shoulder. Cas' face was blank, staring down into the vial he was holding. The temptation was almost too much. His mouth had started watering at the sweet scent of the blood.

“I - I know.” He passed one to Thorne and offered his to Imara, who declined. 

“Your loss.” Cas said, shrugging. He looked down into the vial, swirling the red liquid. _It's been so long... A taste won't hurt will it?_ They clinked vials and downed the blood. Regis walked up to them.

“That’s an… interesting… way to get drunk, Cas.” The young vampire hastily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I- uh. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tried to hide the blood-stained vial at his side. Regis took and pocketed the vial.

“You lied to that woman.” Cas wouldn’t look at him. “You played her.” Koel hissed through his teeth and with a 'you're on your own buddy, sorry' disappeared into the crowd at the sight of an older, more alpha higher vampire. Cas looked around for backup, but none was to be found.

“Well, Koel would have killed her, so I _am_ better in that regard.”

“That is no excuse. I can tell that you aren’t nearly satisfied with that small amount of blood.”

“I…” He stopped speaking when he saw Geralt.

“Cas, I might not have taught you about a lot of vampire stuff, but I do remember lecturing you about drinking blood. Over and over again. And now, I find out you have an addiction." Cas floundered for an excuse. "Bup-bup. 'You still got it'? If i heard that right, that means you've done this before. Many times. I warned you, Cas.” Imara and Thorne slowly backed away and joined Anarietta, Dettlaff, Bryan, and Dashiell. They didn’t sign up for this shit.

“I’ve tried to stop. I get better sometimes, but it’s like Koel has a radar for whenever I stop drinking because he shows up every time. And every time, I get re-addicted and I can’t say no.” Regis put his hand on Geralt’s shoulder telling him to join the rest of the group. Cas and Regis took a stroll around the residence.

*

“This one time we set a trap, a peasant healer. We attacked her, Cas defended her, she took him home, patched him up and the next day, she was almost dead and Cas was no where to be found. He left a healing potion which she drank, luckily. But he headed back to us, with almost all of her blood, plus most of the village’s. The party that night. Never had another like it.” Dettlaff looked green with disgust, as did most of the company.“He taught us a song that night, how did it go? Ah. Yes.  
Well they encourage your complete cooperation…” He started. Imara, Thorne and the rest of the vampire group joined.

“Send you roses when they think you need to smile.  
I can’t control myself because I don’t know how,  
And they love me for it honestly, I’ll be here for a while.” Regis and Cas joined the group. Cas sang with them, flinging his arm around Koel's shoulder and swaying to the beat.

“So give them blood, blood, gallons of the stuff!  
Give them all that they can drink and it will never be enough.  
So give them blood, blood, blood.  
Grab a glass because there’s going to be a flood!” At this point, most of the guests had gathered around the singing group, clapping along.

“A celebrated man amongst the gurneys.  
They can fix me proper with a bit of luck.  
The doctors and the nurses they adore me so,  
But it’s really quite alarming ‘cause I’m such an awful fuck.

(Oh thank you.)

I gave you blood, blood, gallons of the stuff,  
I gave you all that you could drink and it has never been enough.  
I gave you blood, blood, blood,  
I’m the kind of human wreckage that you love!” Applause broke out, as well as laughter from the group.

*

The vampire group soon departed and the soirée came to a close. They all trekked up to the top of the building to meet Orianna. They got halfway up before Thorne stopped and told Geralt to assess the room to his left. The rest of them went up without him. “What happened when you disappeared?” Asked Dashiell, quietly to Cas.

“Well, long story short, I’m grounded.”

“You’re 33.”

“I wish I was 33 to Regis. Then I wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Cas, I’m well aware that you’re 33. You are effectively a toddler. You have only just started teething. Have your fangs even come through yet?”

“Yes. They have.” Cas said indignantly. “Shouldn’t you ask Geralt before you ground me?”

“And why should I do that?”

“Because you won’t get your head out of your ass and tell him that he’s your mate.”

“I cannot know that it won’t taint our relationship. And that doesn’t mean that I can’t ground you.”

*

Geralt caught up to the group, who had been chatting restlessly at the top of the building with Orianna. “I have one question.” Said Cas, “How come it’s okay for Regis to ground me?”

“You’re grounded?” Asked Geralt.

“Once this matter is all resolved, yes. He is grounded.” Regis replied.

“Well, I’m not going to argue. You did keep your blood addiction from us.” Cas groaned.

“Can you believe these two?” He asked Bryan, who just shrugged. Orianna was busy organising people to move Cecilia’s corpse, so the group had a little time to themselves. Light conversation was made, a few jokes here and there. And suddenly, Dettlaff spoke.

“You smile quite a lot.”

“Yeah, and you don’t at all. I’ve never seen you smile, truly smile, teeth and all.” Noticed Cas, annoyed.

“I don’t like to show off my fangs.”

“I think my fangs are great.” Cas showed off his teeth to Imara.

“Those are some top notch teeth!” She exclaimed and formed her hand into the 'okay' symbol.

“Thanks.” Cas grinned. Dettlaff huffed in annoyance. An idea struck the younger vampire, a somewhat violent idea, but a good way to pass the time. “I want to know which witcher school is the best at training their students. I know your all going to defend your school, but hear me out. Let’s fist fight.” Everyone looked at him like he was crazy.

“You’re a higher vampire. You’re going to beat us since you can’t get hurt. That being said I'm more than willing to fight.” Said Imara.

“Humour me. I challenge thee! Besides, I want to see if you can still fight in your dress.” Imara huffed and stood up, taking a fighting stance.

*

Imara sat down heavily, refusing healing saliva and downing a dose of swallow. She had taken a rather nasty punch to the mouth but prior to that, she was winning. Her teeth started to tingle. _Must be the healing process._ She reasoned. She opened her mouth and ran her fingers over her teeth. “What the fuck?"

“Oh fuck.” Exclaimed Cas, realising too late what was happening. He looked at his still bleeding knuckles. He should have known. He went to Imara’s side. “Teeth feeling weird? It’s okay. I’m sorry. Its part of the process. But like guess what? This is cool as shit. You’re becoming a vampire. Whoo! Congrats! It happened to me too. Fair warning, your teeth _will_ fall out.” Dettlaff looked at Cas inquisitively.

“That’s not possible. It’s a myth.”

“And yet I was once human. Im, you’re gonna wanna be asleep for this.” Imara grasped that opportunity by the bullocks and was asleep in seconds, soft snores floating out of her mouth. Just then, Orianna walked in, bringing everyone’s attention to her. They left Imara on a couch, and Dettlaff confused as they turned their heads to face Orianna.

“It’s time I told you what happened.” She sat down. “I caught him, the Cintrian, red-handed, attempting to burgle, rifling through my possessions.”

“What did you do? Summon the guards?” Asked Anarietta.

“There was no time. I feared he’d escape, refused to give him the chance. He stood with his back to me, so I attacked. He struck his head on a picture frame as we struggled. He was bleeding, dazed… and then he drew a knife. Everything happened very quickly then. I knocked the weapon out of his hand and pushed him, hard. He…”

“Fell out of the window.” Finished Geralt.

“Just so.” She assented.

“Claim the man was trying to rob you when you walked into the room?”

“Yes, he stood over my dressing table, pawing through my jewelry…”

“Mhm. After this, is my guess. Picked it up while searching.” Geralt opened his hand to display a yellow jewel.

“Why, that’s the Heart of Toussaint! Orianna, how did you ever come to have it?”

“I bought it. Many years ago. From a young woman.”

“Jewel seems important. Why?”

“God damn it, dad. Use your brain. Who else could the Heart of Toussaint belong to, other than the royal family?” Asked Cas, rolling his eyes.

“No need to be rude.” Regis chided.

“Leave it. He’s mad about being grounded.” Said Geralt making a dismissive gesture.

“Cas is right, the Heart is an heirloom, it belonged to my family for years… Then it disappeared. I didn’t think we would ever recover it.”

“Seems someone is very determined to find it. The thief left his tool bag behind. Found this drawing inside it. Look.” Said Orianna. She slid a drawing, an exact replica of the Heart onto the table.

“The Heart of Toussaint. Representation’s pretty faithful. Cintrian must’ve been on a job… got very clear instructions what to look for.” Deduced Geralt.

“So… so it is not him we seek, but his employer. Is this the only evidence we’ve found?” Asked Anarietta.

“Also happened on the weapon he attacked Orianna with. Hunting knife, used to skin game. Got an emblem on its hilt.” Geralt placed the blood stained knife on the table. Anarietta leaned towards it.

“This crest is used by the lords of Dun Tynne. The present master of the castle is a passionate hunter… Our next lead, perhaps?”

“Dun Tynne… Abandoned as I remember.” Mentioned Regis, scratching his chin.

“More recently the family’s last heir, Roderick, returned to his ancestral seat and restored the castle.” Anarietta stated.

“Know any more about this Roderick?” Asked Geralt.

“His grandfather was advisor to Queen Ademarta. The family received those lands as a grant for his service. Roderick is quite the recluse. He avoids society, preferring the company of a small team of knights… Though the latter term is imprecise, as they seem more akin to vandals with crests on their shields.”

“Okay, listen up everyone, everything we discussed here, keep it to yourself. I’m counting on it.” Said Geralt. Everyone nodded, save Imara who was still sleeping. Regis hummed.

“Word gets out he failed his attempt to steal the jewel, his employer could attempt to escape. We must proceed cautiously.”

“Discretion is in the interest of us all. I’ll not ask what this is about, just as I expect not to be troubled about it again, by anyone.” Said Orianna. Anarietta stood up.

“Geralt, may I have a word, alone?” Geralt side-eyed Regis, who motioned for him to go. Geralt stood up and followed her to the other end of the residence.

*

“So, Orianna – any thoughts?”

“Few make me feel awkward, but in her presence, I sense anxiety, discomfort.” Geralt looked at her, waiting for her to start the conversation, when she didn’t, he huffed.

“The drawing – it’s on the same type of paper the victims’ names were written on. Drawn with the same ink, too. Seems the work of our blackmailers.”

“Who were not only behind the Beast’s murders, but also stole the Sangreal and sought to steal the Heart of Toussaint…”

“Look, the wine, the jewel – both tied to you, intrinsically. Coincidence? Not something I’m willing to believe. Worried about one thing – that somewhere at the end of this scheme, plan might call for an attempt on your life.”

“It… it could be something else altogether.” Anarietta started pacing. “My sister, Syanna, might be among the schemers. She left court when we were children… My parents banished her from the duchy. I’ve not seen her since.”

“Think your sister might be involved? Why?”

“You see… I recall her always being rather… possessive, throwing jealous fits if I had something she didn’t.”

“Hear that’s common for sisters – rivalry…”

“True… I suppose I gave as good as I got. There are times I miss that very much. The wine, its theft, was the first clue. That’s very much like her – she always did enjoy stealing my toys. But I grew almost certain when I saw the Heart of Toussaint. Syanna received it from Father as a gift. At a time when my parents thought of her as but an ill-behaved little girl. Someone wanted some of my wine. The same someone ordered out family jewel stolen – or recovered. It’s my sister, it must be.”

“A fallen princess satisfying whims, going after lost luxuries… Hm, could be right. What’d your sister do to get banished?”

“Syanna was… cursed.”

“Parents run afoul of some mage?”

“No. She was born at an inopportune moment. They said she was touched by the curse of the Black Sun… Geralt, is it true? Can an individual be evil because they were born during the wrong lunar phase?”

“Could be the case. Could also be because they were treated like lepers from birth – isolated, prodded, ostracised. Couldn’t have had it easy, Syanna.”

“She… she was angry at the whole world. She felt inferior, felt pain, though she masked this with confidence, arrogance, even. She could also be cruel at times. I recall one such situation… She persuaded Cedric de Coulbert that she could see the future in her dreams. We were children, and Cedric’s brother was smitten with me. It was an innocent childhood crush. Syanna knew of it. She told Cedric of a dream she had had – that he would die… at the hands of his own brother. Cedric stole his father’s sword and killed his brother. She destroyed two lives with the prank – Cedric mourns to this day. In the end, they forced her to leave the palace… A decade past, more. I’ve missed her terribly since. Your mission has gained new import. You must go to Dun Tynne and if Syanna is there, you must find her. No matter what she did, she is not to be harmed in any way, shape or form. You must make sure of that.”

“Can’t guarantee her safety, unfortunately. Especially if she’s one of those responsible for these crimes.”

“Witcher, that was not a request. Ugh. Let’s head back.”

*

“Your grace, you have met these men before?” Asked Orianna.

“Of course, I know Regis. But I never caught the other gentleman’s name.”

“This is my very dear friend, Dettlaff van der Eretein, an arrival from Nazair.” Introduced Regis. “I can hardly believe that I forgot to introduce you.”

“Splendid. Orianna, do you know them?”

“We’ve known each other for… ooh, ages, literally.” Cas snickered from his seat on the railing of the balcony.

“Witcher, I hear you know Regis, too? Even that you are…” She looked at Regis. “Friends?”

“Something like that.” Affirmed Geralt. “Few I can rely on like I can on Regis. Kinda hoping he thinks the same of me.”

“Curious… It seems opposites really do attract.” Cas lost it, but his fit out laughter was brought to a close with both Geralt and Regis glaring at him. He could have sworn he heard Dettlaff snicker.

“Don’t be fooled, dear, Geralt has many merits. He merely hides them from the world very diligently.” They all sat down at the table, Regis and Geralt scooting their chairs closer absentmindedly. Thorne and Cas noticed and lost themselves in another fit of giggles.

“They’re hopeless.” Whispered Cas. Thorne nodded.

“You said you’re both aiding him with his contract. It involves the Beast of Beauclair, I suspect? Master witcher, maybe you could satisfy my curiosity. What’s it like, going toe to toe with a monster? Knowing you’ve only got two options – to kill or be killed?” Orianna inquired.

“Despite what you might have heard, I don’t lunge at every monster I see, sword in hand. Talking does the job done for some.”

“Hmm. I wonder what a monster might have to say to you.”

“It might want to apologise.” Offered Dettlaff.

“My word. For what might a monster wish to apologise to a witcher?” Asked the duchess.

“For killing, though at times there is no choice. When loved ones are at risk and require protection.”

“Same as humans. Put them in that situation, they’ll kill, too.” Said Geralt.

“You understand this… It must be why you and Regis are friends. If I understand you correctly, you would rather help a monster than kill it?”

“If possible, yeah. Or at least try.”

“Enough about the witcher trade for now… Regis mentioned you come from Nazair. I spent time there as a child.” Diverged Anarietta.

“Fond memories?”

“It was wonderful. I was positively entranced by the land’s fashions. Deep cut dresses I found most fascinating…”

“I believe we’re running short on wine. I should go to the cellar, bring another bottle.” Announced Orianna.

“Let me go. Wanna help, Regis? Know your wine a lot better than I know mine.” Offered Geralt.

“We shall return forthwith.” They got up from the table and left for the cellar.

“That’s gotta be the worst excuse to go have sex I’ve ever heard.” Said Cas rather loudly.

“My, you _are_ vulgar.” Said the duchess.

“Runs in the family.” Cas shrugged. “Dashiell, Bryan, you should try that excuse from time to time.”

"Wanna go look for wine?" Offered Bryan, grinning at Dashiell lewdly. Dashiell simply chuckled and pushed Bryan's chest playfully.

*

“An exceptional conversation, don’t you think? Vampires, witchers, and the duchess of Toussaint – my, my.” 

“Highly exceptional, Regis… Wanted to talk to you in privet. What’s the situation with Dettlaff?”

“He believes you’ll succeed in your task. And he’ll not need to kill anymore…That is, not until he gets his hands on the men who kidnapped his Rhena.” Geralt walked over to the wine.

“Orianna… She really your friend? Can she be trusted?”

“I met her years ago, before I met you. And before she settled in Beauclair. We’d not seen one another in, oh – I can’t begin to tell you how long. But I shall tell you all about her… some other day.”

“Now listen close. Got a plan of action. Since the black mailers are based at Dun Tynne Castle. Duchess expects we’ll find her long-lost sister there, too. Thing is, she might be involved, could be behind the blackmailing.

“Do you mean to say your task is to extract two women from the castle?”

“Mean to say we can’t breathe a word of this to Dettlaff. Who wants revenge above all else.”

“Geralt, you must trust me. I’ve got a way with…”

“No, Regis. Can’t risk it. Gotta keep Dettlaff here while I go to Dun Tynne.”

“Alone?”

“Alone. That way I can make sure neither woman’ll come to any harm.”

“I don’t like this. I hope you know what you’re doing… Fine. I shall see to Dettlaff. Good luck, Geralt.”

“C’mon let’s pick a wine. We need to get back up there.”

“I have the oddest feeling that you’re skirting some subject” Geralt looked immediately uncomfortable.

“Regis, not now.”

“Fine, I won’t press, but you can talk to me, Geralt.”

“Thanks.”

*

“Splendidly, Dettlaff. Ah, I’m grateful you brought back those memories.” Geralt and Regis walked towards the table. “You’re back. It took you long enough.”

“Contrary to what common folk believe, choosing a wine is not nearly as easy as it might seem. Especially one to be served to two exquisite ladies.”

“Regis – gallant as ever.”

“I miss just asking Siri.” Said Cas wistfully.

“Ciri? She doesn’t know a thing about wine.” Said Geralt.

“Siri with an ‘S’. I knew I’d run into this problem sooner or later. Do you miss phones?” Asked Cas.

“Why is that even a question?” Thorne asked.

“Mine barely worked.” Bryan said, throwing in a pout for extra credits.

“I miss Netflix.” Reminisced Dashiell. There was a murmur of agreement from the witchers.

“I’m not even going to ask.” Geralt sighed.

“I regret that I shall not finish this bottle with you. Duty calls…” Anarietta stood up.

“Your Grace, always a pleasure.” Said Orianna, standing up and curtseying slightly.

“I thank you for you help, it’s been invaluable… Geralt, will you see me out?” He looked over at Cas.

“I’ll catch up to you. Be seeing you, Your Grace.” Cas bowed his head in her direction.

“Toodles!” Said Bryan, waving like crazy. 

It was in this moment that Imara stirred from her slumber.

“What the fuck, guys, keep it down.” She rolled over and fell off the couch.

“Rise and shine, Sammy.”

“Ugh.”

“Feeling any better? More mysterious? Darker?” Asked Cas.

“Like a drink.” Imara sat up.

“Blood or wine?”

“Ha ha. Wine.” Imara said sarcastically. Cas passed her a bottle of Est Est. “Glass?”

“You’re gonna want all of it.”

“I know I want all of it. Nothing’s changed.” Imara chugged the bottle. “So, do I get a new name? A club, tribal thingy?” Cas huffed.

“No, and get in line.”

“Ah, yes, I was going to ask you about that, Dettlaff, Orianna.”

“You have my attention.”

“Do we dare bring Cas to the Unseen? A perilous journey in itself, but…”

“He does not have a tribe?” Asked Dettlaff. Cas shrugged.

“Look, I have all the attributes and abilities of a higher vampire, but being one? I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. Most of the time I just mimic. Its exhausting. I’m fucked if I even know why I want to belong to a tribe, but I do.”

“It is no debate then; you will see the unseen.” Dettlaff concluded. “And so will the new one.” He gestured to Imara.

“Hell yeah!”

*Meanwhile*

“You have exceptional friends. This Dettlaff – an intriguing man to say the least.”

“Don’t know him too well. He say much about himself?”

“Not much, but I’ve a good sense of the true nature of those I meet. I’d not survive a week at court otherwise.”

“So what’s his?”

“Sensitive. Sad. He carries within him the weight of a terrible tragedy. He is a good man, but lost. Which is why he comes across as grim.”

“Didn’t expect the evening to end like this.”

“Neither did I… But I have not drawn you out for a romantic stroll. I wish to know what you are to do.”

“Mhm. Gotta go to Dun Tynne.”

“I’ve decided my guardsmen will support you. You will meet them at Count de la Croix’s mill. It stands along the Sansretour River, near the Cockatrice Inn. Captain de la Tour and his men will await you there at midnight. You shall storm the castle together.” Geralt simply nodded at the duchess and departed. Next stop Dun Tynne. After he found his armor, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Senpai song is something my friends and I have worked on for a musical called 'Ditch the musical' We cannot say exactly how it goes as we haven't got music for it yet, only lyrics, and I'm not sure 'Bryan', the person Bryan was modelled after, would be very happy sharing all of it. I'll see just how much I can post of it and put it down here when I can.


	6. Capture the Castle

Geralt made his way to the mill, a feeling of unease settling deep in his stomach. Something was going to go wrong. He could feel it. He entered the old barn which was filled to the rim with busy guards. Damien was planning at a small table when Geralt got there. “Geralt, good you’re here. Ready to attack Dun Tynne?”

“See you already prepared a plan. Walk me through it?” Damien turned to face the map on the table.

“We have two objectives – to find her Illustrious Highness’ sister and capture the men who blackmailed the vampire. Dun Tynne is a modest complex – several old buildings, a high wall around them. At the center of the enclosure stands an imposing keep, restored not long past by the elderly knight of the castle, Roderick. We mean to strike here, through the main gate, then secure the area in front of the keep by storm.”

“How many defend Dun Tynne? You know?”

“Roderick maintains a team of knights for defense. They are no army, but they could number several dozen. Also, Roderick recently took in a band of foreign mercenaries. About them we know very little.”

“Cintrian’s men, gotta be. Ran into a few in town – they tried to kill me. Need to hit them from both sides. You draw the defenders, keep them busy/ I’ll sneak in the back way, find the women, make sure they come to no harm. I’ll vault over the wall as soon as you start your assault.”

“Your plan puts you at great risk… but I sense you will handle it well. Let us go.” They saw no reason to delay.

*

As they neared the keep, Geralt rode off around the back of the keep to wait for the signal. As he was approaching the back wall, he scared a few ravens, one he recognised as Junior. “God damn it, Cas. You’re as bad as Regis, always keeping an eye on me.” The horn sounded. Geralt unsheathed his steel sword, twirling it loosely in hand. “So it begins…”

*Meanwhile at the entrance to the Unseen elder’s cave*

“Are you sure about this, Cas?” Regis asked, concern evident in his tone.

“Yeah. I’m sure. Im?”

“I’m ready.” Orianna opened the door and all the higher vampires entered the cave. Thorne, Bryan, and Dashiell stayed behind, not willing to become tasty witcher snacks for an all-powerful vampire. They walked into the main room, it was dead quiet and the unseen was just as his name suggests. That is, until Cas peered up to the roof. The Unseen elder sensed their presence.

“Nac… Thi… Sel me thaur?” Regis bowed.

“Spureni veres nac atranes. Avile cleva Regis, etu…”

“What’s he saying?” whispered Imara to Cas. Cas shrugged.

“ZATLATH!” Regis was suddenly frozen. Cas felt his heart beat increase as fear creeped its way into his muscles. He bowed with his hand out anyway.

“I don’t speak your language, but I can speak to you in a... uh... universal dialect.” His voice turned guttural and he spoke in enochian. “Ol lava rita lap iolci de brgda nonci. Zir Caßiel. Ol trian om a ziidar ar zir do. Gohe pambt.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Imara hissed. The unseen elder turned his head to face Cas, and laughed. He suddenly appeared next to Cas and yelled.

“ZATLATH!” Orianna, and Dettlaff were suddenly frozen along with Regis. The elder looked frightened when Cas and Imara didn’t freeze.

“Z-ZATLATH!” He stuttered.

“Cas, what does that mean?” Asked Imara, whispering.

“What are you?”

“We're vampires? What sort of question is that? It should concern you more about what I used to be. Maybe that's because we were once human?” Cas offered. Im shrugged.

 “Tell me what you were saying.”

“You don’t know enochian? I said; I pray forgiveness for disturbing your rest. I am Caßiel. Tell me what tribe I belong to. Speak to me.”

“You do not freeze.”

“And you’re not answering my question. Pageip.” The rest of the vampires unfroze.

“What did you say?” Asked the unseen elder, picking up a stick and prodding Cas. The witcher batted the stick away.

“Dude, stop. I said ‘rest not.’ Now are you going to answer my question?” Cas put a hand to his temple to try to cull his lightheadedness. The blood he drank was no where near enough to support any more spells.

“You are all Garasham. Now tell me what were you?”

“Something more ancient and more powerful than you will ever hope to be. The word would mean little to you. I am from a different world. Very different to your old world and from this world. Now can you give me some pointers on how to actually be a vampire? Or do I have to continue pointlessly asking questions?” Cas revealed, hoping perhaps that if the elder feared him, he would be less of a target. The unseen elder used his thumb to smear some cave water over Cas' temple. “What the fuck?”

“You will know. Now leave me.”

“Okay. I’ll see you again, whether you like it or not.” Cas ushered a dumbfounded Regis, confused Dettlaff, impressed Orianna, and a fed up Imara out of the cave.

“Do you always have to try to steal the fucking show?” Asked Imara.

“Yes.”

“Did you just frighten the Unseen elder?”

“Great powers of deduction, Dettlaff, you’re a regular fucking master sleuth. Good fucking job, Sherlock.”

“That makes Thorne, Watson.” Said Imara.

“Who’s Watson?” Asked Regis.

“Oh he's gonna like this one. Imara, I’ll leave this to you.” Imara smiled evilly.

“Sit down, shut up, its story time bitches!”

*

“Quick! We grab Roderick’s horses and we bolt!” One of the ‘knights’ urged.

“We won’t bolt far if the boys out front don’t hold…” Geralt dropped from the wall behind them, landing softly.

“Not so fast. Little change of plans.” He drew his steel sword and flew at the two guards. He cast quen and dodged as a third tried to slice at his shoulder. He hit the man twice, once on his chest and once on his back and then went after the archer near the gate. The man took a long time to put his crossbow away. He hadn’t even drawn his sword by the time Geralt was beheading him. He parried one knight’s blow and hit him full force in the chest with his body, knocking him off balance. He sliced him in the back. The next blow hit him but quen repelled it. Geralt got two good blows in before the man dodged away from him. He dodged one of the knights while simultaneously slashing at the most damaged one’s back. He knocked one onto the ground and shoved his sword into his heart, killing him instantly. He cast quen again and went after the war hammer wielder. Two more guards joined the fight and Geralt cast igni, setting them alight. He watched them burn as he parried the other knight’s attacks. He kicked the man’s stomach and then chopped off his legs. The other men were still on fire. He managed to avoid their spears and get some well placed slashes in. He killed two men with one thrust of his sword. Only the knight with the war hammer was left. Geralt quickly beheaded him.

“Roderick sent them to get the horses. He’s looking to flee. Can’t let him.” Geralt ran though the gate and into a street of Dun Tynne. He rounded the corner into two guards. Geralt lept backwards, casting igni on their metal-clad bodies. The knights twisted in pain, their armour cooking them through their underclothes. Geralt couldn't afford to stop and he raced on. 

“Hurry with those crates! But be careful! If you drop any…” _Roderick's trying to escape_. Geralt saw the cart, Roderick was surrounded by a team of knights. Geralt threw a bomb at them and went for one of the knights not behind a shield. He almost killed a few knights but then decided that they’d die better by fire. He cast igni. Roderick was wounded and lay down next to the cart, giving up. Geralt cast igni again at a shield barer, making him drop his shield and flail his arms around in agony. Geralt quickly defeated the other knights, painting his armour and sword red with blood. _Time to question Roderick. Hopefully he hasn’t bled out yet._ He turned to Roderick.

“Mercy… mercy… I did no wrong…” Roderick pleaded, attempting to crawl away from Geralt.

“Nu-uh – kept the wrong damn company. Cintrian’s men – where are they?” Roderick coughed.

“I… knew… Shouldn’t have let them under my roof…”

“Where’s the hostage? The woman?”

“Wha…? What… what do you mean…? I… know nothing about a hostage… Must… must be the handiwork… of my… ‘guests.’”

“Where are they now?”

“In… in the keep… Readying their escape.”

“There someone with them? Woman named Syanna?”

“Of… of course… She… she convinced me… to let them in.”

“And a whole pile of trouble along with them. Where is she?”

“Pack… packing. We were to leave together… an… old fool… I’d have done… anything, for her.”

“Where is she? In the keep, too?”

“Y… yes. Her chamber is… in the tower… The top… floor.” Geralt stood up from where he was kneeling beside Roderick. “What… what will become of me?” Roderick croaked. Geralt looked around and spotted some linen on the cart. He grabbed it and handed it to Roderick.

“Here. Press it against the wound. Should stanch the bleeding.”

“I… I thank you.” Geralt went through a second gate into a courtyard. He found some of the Cintrian’s men there. One of them was mammoth, a gargantuan man meaning one thing: slow. Geralt used his enhanced agility to spin and twist away from the knight, hitting him rarely but where it hurt. Eventually the man fell to his knees in a great cloud of dust and Geralt raced off, not being at liberty to revel in his victory. He made his way up some stairs where a number of archers stood, it was a bloodbath, to say the least. Geralt walked up a curved staircase to find crossbows aimed at him.

“Giving you one last chance – yield.” He warned, taking two intimidating steps towards the group.

“The damned harlot got us into this… Kill him! Attack!” The head bandit commanded, pushing one of the archers forward. They looked down as they stumbled towards Geralt to see red, blue, black, and green fog curling around their ankles. One by one they were dragged into it or killed by invisible claws through the stomach. Once they were all dead, Dettlaff, Regis, Cas, and Imara appeared out of the fog, their faces returning to normal and their claws shortening. Geralt was surprised to see them but this was not the time. Cas went to high-five Imara. They missed.

"Well that was pathetic." Observed Imara.

"Like your sneeze." 

"Hey!"

"Try again." They co-ordinated their attack this time, their palm meeting in a might 'smack'. "Noice." 

“Need to get into the keep.” Geralt ignored Cas' butchering of the word 'nice'. 

“They shall pay. For everything.” Growled Dettlaff angrily. The witcher and and four higher vampires made quick work of all the bandits. Though Geralt didn’t get many kills in as the vampires were faster and angrier than him. Geralt got so accustomed at one point that he almost sheathed his sword, but that proved to be a mistake when he was almost taken out by a bandit, who was, in turn, taken out by a very angry, snarling Regis. From then on, no bandit got within 5 meters of Geralt without facing the wrath of the scholarly vampire. Once the massacre was over, Geralt finally acknowledged that the vampires were in fact here.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you guys here.” He said, sheathing his sword.

“We thought you could use our help so…” Regis began.

“Witcher. This is no time to explain. Where is Rhena?” Asked Dettlaff.

“Expect to answer a lot of questions inside.”

“Let us go, then.” Dettlaff set off towards the door. Cas turned to Imara.

“Would you go see that no one gets hurt, Thorne isn’t licking the blood from the corpses, and Bryan and Dashiell are fighting, not making out.”

“All of that is likelier than it seems. I’ll go make sure Thorne isn’t making out with a corpse in front of the entire ducal army.” Imara vanished in a puff of green fog. Cas ran to catch up with the others. Once inside, Dettlaff slew any man who stood in his way, until he came to the top of the tower, where he stopped, leaning against the doorframe. He breathed heavily and composed himself before barging into the room, Cas, Geralt, and Regis not far behind.

“Rhena!” He exclaimed, relieved, he rushed over to her, taking her head in his hand, turning her chin from side to side. “Are you… are you hurt? If any of them…”

“You know me. I’d never let them hurt me. I just waited for you to come.” They hugged, Dettlaff indulging in her scent for the first time in years.

“I… I didn’t know where to look. They threatened to kill you… I... Forgive me. I failed you.” Geralt, Regis, and Cas came running into the room. They stood near the fireplace.

“Now we need only find Anna Henrietta’s sister. Where should we look? Do you know?” Asked Regis. Cas chuckled.

“How about near the window, sort of hidden behind Dettlaff, attempting to hide a bottle of stolen Sangreal?” Cas turned to the woman in the room. “Could you please just stop putting your hand behind your back. It puts me on edge, tense. Geralt, would you like to tell Dettlaff how he’s been bent over and royally fucked with a double edged knife?”

“You… you could have put that… more pleasantly. For example; ‘she used you.’” Offered Regis, frowning.

“Yeah but that’s like saying a botchling’s ugly. Can’t say it’s a lie, but it doesn’t exactly convey the whole truth either.”

“Taking lessons from Lambert now?” Asked Geralt.

“Are you going to tell him, or not?”

“Sorry, Dettlaff. You’ve been had.” Dettlaff started walking towards Geralt. Regis stepped between them, using his body as a buffer between vampire and witcher. 

“My friend, please… you must listen to what Geralt has to say.” Regis reasoned. Cas walked slowly to the door and closed it, wandering silently to the window to sit on the ledge behind the woman.

“Rhena’s not her real name. This is Syanna, and Syanna is sister to Anna Henrietta, the duchess of Toussaint.”

“Wh… what nonsense is this?” Growled Dettlaff.

“Syanna was banished as a child… But it seems she trekked back here recently. Moved into Dun Tynne and ran a vandaguild out of here. Sent a man called The Cintrian to Beauclair. To steal some wine for her, wine reserved for the ducal family, Cintrian led us to her. Caught him later stealing a jewel Syanna’d gotten from her father as a child.” Dettlaff hummed in consideration. “Sorry Dettlaff. She used you. Part of her plan.” Dettlaff looked at Syanna accusatorially and then turned away from her, staring into nothing. She tried to walk up to him, comfort him, putting her hand on his shoulder. He grabbed her by the neck and held her against the wall, chocking the lying harlot. Geralt went for his sword, but Regis motioned for him to stay out of Dettlaff’s way. Cas was scarily neutral, face blank as he looked on. Dettlaff, realising what he was doing, dropped Syanna. She landed on her feet.

“You will come to Tesham Mutna and explain all. If you do not, I will raze Beauclair to the ground. _This_ I promise you. You’ve three days. I shall be waiting.” He walked towards Cas, turning into fog at the last possible second and flying out the window. Cas felt his own chest.

“Bastard went right through me.”

“He just fly off?” Asked Geralt.

“Aren’t you at all concerned about Dettlaff’s blatant disregard of personal space?”

“He did not wish to act rashly. He’s gone to soothe his nerves.” Explained Regis.

“Think he’ll do it – make good on his threat?” Asked Geralt

“I cannot say. He can be unpredictable when fury consumes him.” Said Regis.

“He will. He cares not for human beings. Their deaths will mean nothing to him.” Cas said, quietly. Syanna stood next to him, looking out the window.

“I shall go to him.” She decided.

“Come again? After what he just…?” Asked Regis, surprised.

“You do not know Dettlaff like I do. This child is right, if I don’t do as he says… he truly will destroy the city. He’s more than capable of it.”

“Conscience gets to you now?” Asked Geralt.

“Better… Ahh, better late than never, right?”

“Well, it truly does seem the best option.” Regis sounded cautious, in truth they all were. They soon decided that it was best if they leave the room and go outside to meet the guards.

*

“Your Grace, we must proceed with caution. Guardsmen saw vampires here… They could still be about.” Warned Damien, standing in Anarietta’s way.

“Vampires or no vampires, my sister is here. Find her.”

“Your Grace, that…” The door to the house opened and out filed Regis, Cas, Syanna, and Geralt. Upon seeing her sister, Anarietta rushed towards her.

“Syanna… It’s true- it’s you! Sister, dear… what have you gotten yourself into?”

“So concerned, I’m surprised! Is there an ounce of truth to it?” Syanna spat. 

“You… you feel resentment, I understand. But I promise, promise we shall work through all the unfortunate matters of the past… We will discuss them later… Captain, escort Syanna to the palace. I shall meet with her as soon as we return.”

“As you wish, Your Grace!” Damien escorted Syanna out the gate. While the exchange between the sisters was happening, Imara, Bryan, Dashiell, and Thorne had made their way to stand with Cas, Regis, and Geralt.

“And you, witcher, you have my thanks. I cannot believe my sister was so near the whole time… Roderick of Dun Tynne shall answer for treason and blackmail.”

“He’s no traitor, just naïve. Let himself be made a fool of, paid dearly for it.” Geralt wouldn’t allow Roderick to answer for something that wasn’t his fault.

“Made a fool? Whom by?” Asked the duchess.

“Your Grace’s sister. She’s the mastermind, made Roderick let the men into his home.” Geralt glared at Cas for stealing his thunder again.

“We’ve discovered Syanna blackmailed the vampire, ordered him to kill those men.” Revealed Regis.

“What… what nonsense is this?!”

“She is his missing lover. Staged her own abduction to force him to do her bidding.” Regis explained.

“He was a tool. Whole scheme was Syanna’s, she was behind it.” Elaborated Geralt, back turned to the duchess.

“You’re mistaken, you must be. This cannot be true.” The duchess denied. 

“Your Grace… I know this vampire and…”

“What? You know him? Who is he?” Asked Anarietta, accusingly.

“Dettlaff” Everyone said this in unison.

“The same who so recently sat at my table and told me of Nazair? Is there anything else you’ve neglected to mention? A dragon living beneath Mount Gorgon, perhaps? Is anyone else here a vampire?” The duchess was angry. Cas, Imara, and Thorne raised their hands. They glared at Regis until he put his up too.

“We’re not as rare as you think, Your Grace.” Cas said.

“Regis? You…”

“Please lets not do this now, Anarietta. Let it go.” Cas sighed.

“Where is he now?” Demanded the duchess.

“Waiting for Syanna. If she doesn’t show up to meet him by an appointed time, he’ll destroy Beauclair.” Warned Geralt, hoping the duchess would listen to reason and let Syanna meet with him.

“He dares threaten us?” She roared. Her face was red with anger, hands clenched by her sides. Even Cas had to admit that he was terrified of her in that moment. 

“Your Grace, we have three days to bring him Syanna and…” Reasoned Regis.

“Not a word. You have three days to bring me his head. No more secrets, no more helping vampires. I want what I’m paying for. The head of the Beast.”

“That’s horribly racist, Your Grace.” Cas accused, glaring at her. “You would do well to heed my council.”

“Caßiel, I am at my limit.” She warned him.

“WELL SO AM I! YOU WILL LISTEN AND THAT IS FINAL!” His claws lengthened and shortened rapidly, his fangs becoming more prominent. He scared her into silence. In truth he scared himself. “You are putting your sister, who is one person, before the welfare of the entire city. That is... extremely unjust. She is your sister, true, but her life is no more important than anyone else’s. She is no more important than the bootblack. She is no more important than the lady who sells wildflowers in the main square, she is not more important than any of us. You want to keep her safe. Well we want to keep Dettlaff safe. I want to keep the humans safe. You will do well to heed my advice. Let her meet Dettlaff. We will make sure nothing goes wrong. All he wants to do is understand. Wouldn’t you too? This discussion is over. That will be all.” Cas waved her away mockingly. She floundered for a moment and promptly left, horrified, not even seeming to understand the disrespect in which she had just been treated. Banishing him on pain of death should he return didn't even cross her mind.

“Cas. What the actual fuck did you just say to the duchess of Toussaint?” Asked Imara. Cas didn't answer, his face twisting in agony. He sank to his knees and put his hands on the ground. The full moon illuminating him.

“I need to cool off, but I can’t. You all need to either be far away from here or find a way to… I’m just so fucking angry!” He roared. Everyone started backing away as his form started changing. It was horrific at first, skin bubbling and bones cracking. That was not normal. Regis was slightly disgusted by the sight. This is what he meant when he said that changing your form incorrectly could have nasty side effects.

“I remember him being a hothead, but damn!“ Thorne whispered, walking backwards quickly. Cas’ transformation was drawn out way longer than it should have been, he had enough sense to remove his armour as he changed so as not to ruin it. Regis collected it and brought it back to the group as he was the only one unafraid to go close. Cas roared as his face morphed, fur sprouting and his features contorting. He collapsed.


	7. Three Days 'til Doomsday

He was… fluffy. A giant fluffy murder bat. An oversized vampire bat. He was no longer angry, just in a lot of pain. He had forgotten all about the duchess and the consoling proximity of other higher vampires had soothed him. He attempted to stand, and promptly fell flat on his face. Right on his squishy nose.  
“I wanna be a fluffy bat!” Exclaimed Im, approaching him. “You got fangs in there?” She lowered her head to his mouth. Cas stood up, he was now finally taller that her. And hissed, showing off his fangs, and flapping his wings… arms? Who knows.

“We need to get you out of here before Damien force feeds you garlic.” Joked Geralt, motioning to the gate. Cas started to walk only to have several hands feeling his fur.

“Fluffy!” Exclaimed Thorne, attempting to wrap her arms around Cas’s bat form. Cas tried to speak, but all that came out was chirps and chirrups. He closed his mouth, embarrassed.

“Geralt, I think it may be best if Cas and I fly to Corvo Bianco and meet you there.” Said Regis, handing Cas’ gear to him. He walked off to change his form, not willing to strip in front of a bunch of teenagers. Well, technically they were adults but compared to him and Geralt… Fine. He had no qualms about getting changed in front of Geralt. It was just the other people.

*

Regis walked out of the shadows, his wings dragging along the ground as he attempted to carry his clothes. He gave them to Geralt rather clumsily. He chirruped loudly and booped Geralt’s forehead with his nose, tickling Geralt with his amazingly fluffy cheeks. Geralt didn’t mind. He assumed it was a sign of thanks instead of the kiss it really was. They would leave it at that. While this was happening, Imara had triggered the change too. Her armour, which wasn’t expensive, as she had lost her expensive gear when she got drunk one night in Velen (It was Thorne’s fault.), ripped to shreds and fell to the floor around her. She stretched and turned to face the white and grey bats. She made a high pitched chirp and flapped her wings, completely disregarding the fact that she was surrounded by people, she may have given Bryan a concussion. Regis got their attention and flapped his wings until he took off. They followed his example, leaving Dun Tynne far behind them.

*

Corvo Bianco was quiet. All the staff had gone to bed and he lights were out in the house. This proved no trouble for the vampires. The door was obviously the nemesis here. They finally managed to fit their huge bat bodies through and not break the door. They were very proud of themselves. Cas’ immediate thought after setting foot in the dining room was to set foot in his bedroom which was up a ladder, which he could not climb. He glared menacingly at the ladder, how could it betray him in his time of need? He made some cute bat noises and tried to make Regis and Imara understand to turn around and that he was going to reform his humanoid body to climb the ladder. They were oblivious until his skin started bubbling.

*

“I’m going to bed so I don’t have to think about what Dettlaff is going to do to the city in three days.” Cas said as he climbed the ladder, butt naked. Imara pretended to be shocked by his nudity, but in truth this was not the first time she had seen him naked. Regis had shielded his face in time saving himself from imminent scarring. Cas closed the curtains that he’d hung in front of the massive arch/doorway thing and found some clothes, well, underwear counts, right? He could hear Imara walking around in human form, going to the room next to his where she bunks with Thorne. Regis stayed in bat form as Geralt had his clothes and he was unwilling to be naked in Geralt's dining room.

*

Geralt walked into the house to find Regis still in bat form, sitting awkwardly on the floor next to the table. He made a series of clicking and chirruping noises and stood when he saw Geralt. The rest of the group filed in behind him, Bryan and Dashiell going up to what would be Ciri’s room if she were here, Thorne went to her and Imara’s room, which she didn’t need since she had a room in the city at her place. Geralt and Regis were left standing there.

“Uh. You can get changed in my room if you want…” Geralt offered. Regis made a clicking noise and attempted to go into the room still in bat form. “God dammit. Regis just change out here and take your clothes in with you. If you’re shy, I won’t look, promise.” Geralt held out Regis’ clothes and looked away.

“I’m not shy. I would just prefer I not make you uncomfortable, Geralt.” Regis took his clothes and disappeared into Geralt’s room. Geralt had only looked away a little bit, still giving himself full view of Regis. The sly bastard.

“Give the poor man some privacy, Geralt!” Cas joked.

“What?” Asked Geralt innocently. Regis fell over in Geralt’s bedroom a great crash echoing throughout the house. “You okay in there?” Asked Geralt, knocking on the door.

“Yes, I’m quite alright, thank you. Though I must know why there are so many swords, maces and other assorted weapons in here? I nearly impaled myself.”

“Weapons? Cas what did you do?”

“I’ll get around to selling them eventually.” Cas dismissed, poking his arm through the curtain and waving nonchalantly at Geralt. Geralt sighed and Regis walked out of his room. The vampire had neglected to put on a shirt or shoes as he saw no reason to if he was to sleep.

“I find myself for one of the first times in my life, truly desiring sleep. I saw you have a settee in the dining room, I believe that will suffice.” Geralt saw an opportunity. Cas told him to stop denying himself things since life was short and best enjoyed when you do things you want. This was the time to take that advice.

“It’s a horrible settee. You don’t sleep very often. My bed’s big, why not share?” Geralt offered awkwardly as Regis stared at him wide-eyed.

“If… if you’re absolutely certain you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.” They made their way into Geralt’s room and sat down on the bed awkwardly. Regis lay down, facing the wall while Geralt got changed.

“Score!” They heard Cas from across the hall.

“Shut up and sleep, Cas!” Yelled Geralt. Regis chuckled and rolled over to face Geralt. They locked eyes and the air grew awkward again. Geralt snapped his fingers, casting igni to turn off the candles illuminating the room.

“Night, Regis.”

“Goodnight, Geralt.”

*Meanwhile in Cas' room*

"What the hell was that about?" Hissed Cas, an angry whisper. Koel reclined further in the nest, head resting on his arms.

"What was what about?" He asked, feigning ignorance. 

"Turning up at Oriannas!" 

"What so I'm not allowed to go where I want now, is that it?"

"No, you know that's not what I'm saying-"

"Oh really Cas then why can't I be at Orianna's?" 

"That's not what I meant." 

"It's what you said." Koel argued. Cas groaned, dragging his hands over his face.

"What I mean is that you can't just go off for years and - I never thought I'd see you again. You were gone and then I finally, finally get to the point where I can move on with my life and you come back. You come back to use me. Again. And I'm here. I'm always FUCKING HERE!" Cas yelled. He was interrupted by a fist banging the wall. 

"You think I wanted to be gone? You think I wanted to leave? You told me to go, Cas. Didn't give a damn about me, how _I_ felt. Well you know what? I don't give a fuck how you feel anymore." 

"You were using me, Koel. I fuelled your addiction, my own addiction. I needed to stop, I knew that, you knew that. I just... I couldn't watch you do that to yourself. And you just expect me to, what, be here to continue the same cycle? No, I never wanted you to leave, I wanted you to stop. As I recall I gave you a choice: blood or me. You're the one who walked out that door, Koel." 

"Well maybe I can't stop. Ever think of that? No, you're too busy thinking of _yourself_ , how it affects _you_. You were supposed to be my mate, by my side through thick and thin. Do you know what it means to leave your mate to our tribe? Do you, Cas? It means you're fair game. Rape isn't rape when you're an omega on your own. You were supposed to protect me." 

"Yes, even from yourself. I was _doing_ that. You just choose to see it differently. You don't really think I wanted you to leave?"

"Everyone does. Why should you be any different?" 

"I'm your fucking mate! Why would I want you to leave? I know there's a good person underneath the blood and the partying, it's just a shame I never got to see it. It's a shame that I thought, maybe if I stay, he'll change, maybe he'll drop the blood after a year, after two years, after five years. But no, you just got more angry, more violent, paranoid, depressed. I wanted you, not some hopped up addict hosting a party every night and bleeding towns dry." Cas rushed at Koel and the black-haired vampire braced for impact, a fist, a foot, hell even a knife. His breath caught in his throat as he felt Cas wrap his arms around his shoulders place one trembling hand on the back of his head. "I might not understand mating bonds, Koel, but I understand you. I know you don't like help when you need it and I know that you think so, so poorly of yourself. And as much as I hate the way you treat me sometimes, I am your mate and I'm always here when you stop running. When you come back. And I'll be here waiting as much as I hate it. As much as I hate it, I love you and nothing is going to change that." Koel brought a hand to his mouth, stifling a sob. 

"I want to try." He whispered pathetically in Cas' ear. "I want to try for us." Cas pulled back and met Koel's red-rimmed eyes with his own. And in response pressed their salty lips together in a chaste kiss. 

"Thank you." 

*The next morning*

Somehow, somewhere in the night Geralt and Regis had gone from being on opposite sides of the bed to being tangled around each other. Geralt’s face was pressed into Regis’ shoulder and he was practically on top of the vampire. If Regis knew, he didn’t mind. His arm was wrapped protectively around Geralt’s waist and he was snoring loudly. The only awkward thing about this position is that Regis could feel Geralt’s hard length on his thigh. He tried to ignore it, but to no avail. They were somewhat peaceful, Regis drifting in and out of consciousness, until Cas walked in to wake them up. The young witcher saw this and quickly used the one thing he had from his world, his phone, to capture this moment. Regis sensed him soon after the picture was shot. Regis growled and hissed at Cas sleepily. “Calm down, dude. I’m no threat. Tell sleeping beauty that breakfast is ready.” Regis shook his head of sleep.

“Cas! I apologise. Yes, I shall tell Geralt that breakfast is ready, but I daresay he needs this sleep.”

“True enough. I’m making coffee. Want some?” Regis hummed.

“I’ve never had occasion to try ‘coffee’. But I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

“Cool beans. I’ll get to it.” Cas left the room and Regis closed his eyes again, willing sleep to overcome him. He pulled Geralt closer and hummed contently. The witcher snuffled in his sleep, nuzzling closer into the junction between Regis' neck and shoulder. It wasn’t five minutes before raucous laughter awoke Geralt. He pushed himself off Regis, slightly mortified at what he’d done in his sleep. The vampire's hand was still on Geralt’s side, gripping loosely. _Maybe Regis wants this?_ Geralt pondered that for a minute. Geralt only then realised that he was hard. Embarrassed, he realised that Regis could probably smell the pheromones. Regis shivered at the cold as Geralt shifted the blankets self-consciously. Regis’ grip on his side tightened as he tried to pull Geralt closer. Vampire strength won over embarrassment as Geralt collided with Regis’ chest. At this very minute, Cas walked in with coffee.

“Two coffees, one for the vampire and one for the witcher. Get your asses up and out, we’re going to do some hardcore relaxing and preparing for doomsday, be awful if you missed it. Also it’d be great if you’d stop pretending to sleep, Regis. I know you snore in your sleep. It awoke me and... never mind. It's loud is what I'm saying.“ Regis peered through one eye at Cas, glaring half-heartedly. The young vampire placed both coffees on the bedside table with firm instructions not to burn their mouths.

“Also B.B is freaking out over the bat tracks through the house. Just a warning.” He smiled cheekily and left the room.

“Pretending to sleep, huh?” Geralt asked taking a sip of his coffee.

“Guilty as charged. Warmth overrides personal boundaries at times.” Regis stretched and yawned, getting off the bed, and into his shirt, to try ‘coffee’. He sipped it tentatively, deciding that he would be having this often. Geralt shifted on the bed, attempting to hide his morning wood. “No need to be embarrassed. It’s a natural reaction, Geralt. But if you are uncomfortable with my presence, I shall leave.” Regis offered. Geralt blushed and shook his head. If Regis was hard, which he was, he did a fantastic job of hiding it behind his robe, for which he was very grateful.

“I’ll just get dressed. How do you like the coffee?”

“I believe it could replace my blood addiction.”

“Trust me, it will.”

*

“Bryan get away from the coffee!” Warned Dashiell, running to prevent the disaster that was to come if Bryan even touched it.

“We have to get you new armor….” Thorne sighed.

“Obviously.” Imara snapped.

“Don’t be like that, you _did_ wreck yours. I’ll get you the Grandmaster Cat gear today when I go into town to get everyone else’s” Cas leaned against the archway to the dining room. “Do you wanna see what I walked in on this morning?”

“Yes!” Cas pulled out his phone.

“Look at this beauty.” He turned the picture of Regis and Geralt towards Imara and Thorne. Thorne made a screeching sound with her mouth closed and pounded on the table excitedly.

“They’re so cute!”

“EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP! I’M TRYING TO SLEEP HERE!” Yelled Koel from the nest upstairs.

“Your mate seems to be a grumpy person in the mornings.” Regis observed.

“Tell me about it.” Cas sighed. “Wait a sec... I mean: mate? What mate? I don't know what you're talking about. Obviously all the pheromones in the air have gotten to you. Is it getting stuffy in here? Well, I’m going to go into town and get the armour and some herbs for Swallow and Black Blood. Possibly some moon dust ingredients and enhanced vampire oil, too. Can never be too careful.” Cas rambled, heading quickly towards the door.

“Bring me some hanged man’s venom while you’re at it.” Imara ordered.

“Sure thing. Regis, you need anything.” Cas was half out the door, head poked through just enough to see.

“No, I don’t believe I do… Though maybe someone can show me how to make coffee?”

“Imara, you’re up! Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. And keep Bryan away from the kitchen. There’s enough sugar there to make him bounce off the ceiling, and trust me, with his shapeshifter mutagens, he can.”

*

“Now that he’s gone let’s snoop around his room.” Said Thorne.

“Isn’t Koel asleep up there?”

“Oh… yeah. Will that stop us?”

“No.” They crept into the room to find it mostly a big pile of blankets with Koel asleep in the middle of them.

“What the fuck?” Mouthed Thorne. They crept through the room, making sure not to disturb Koel for fear of death. They rummaged through a draw, clothes, herbs, blade grease, blood? What the hell?

“Geralt and Regis should know about this.” Said Imara.

*

“I am extremely disappointed.” Regis scolded Cas.

“Why? What did I do?” Cas was mildly frightened. He knew Regis could beat the living shit out of him if he put his mind to it. Older alpha higher vampires were scary.

“Explain this?” Regis held up a flask. Cas sniffed, blood.

“Would you believe that I can’t?”

“No.”

“Take it I can’t weasel my way out of this?” Cas sighed. He dropped the armor he was carrying onto the table. “Koel slipped that into my pocket before he left. He called it a token of thanks. But really he just wanted me to provide blood for the parties again. I didn’t drink any. I was tempted. Almost did a few times. But I couldn’t find it within myself to throw it away. I’m grounded as it is, remember? You can take it. The temptation is too strong for me. Actually maybe dad should take it. We’re both recovering addicts. I fear re-addiction is something neither of us want.” Regis was taken aback by the honesty. 

“I… yes. I doubt either of us want that.” He handed the flask to Geralt, who examined it.

"It's half empty, Cas." Geralt stated. Regis glared at him, disappointed. 

"Well we all have our demons..." Cas tried. Regis just rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

“Hang on. That flask was at the bottom of my draw! Did you go snooping through my clothing?”

“Imara and Thorne told me of the flask.”

“I should’ve known.” Cas sighed. “Anyhow. The armour is ready. Geralt, grandmaster crafted Kaer Morhen armour"  Cas found the parts and handed them to Geralt to try on. The witcher disappeared into his room.

"I know Koel is here, Cas. Though I don't understand your reluctance to recognise that in front of me." Regis admitted. Cas sighed, turning to look at him. 

"We... haven't been on the best of terms recently, and your first impression of him was shitty to say the least."

"Mates not on the best of terms? My, my, that is unpleasant. But you didn't let him traverse the world alone, did you?" Cas looked away, ashamed. "I take it you weren't privy to what a lone mate faces." 

"I... I was. And I let him go anyway." Cas informed Regis. The elder vampire's mouth fell open slightly, his eyes staring unblinkingly into Cas'. 

“Fits. Like a glove.” Geralt announced, walking out of his room. Cas rushed into action, piling armour into people's hands in turn. 

“Imara, Feline, Thorne, Manticore, Bryan, Ursine, Dashiell, Griffin. Is Koel still asleep?”

“No I’m here.” Koel announced from the kitchen.

“I got you this from that haughty bitch tailor in the fancy district. The swords are over there. Everyone find the ones that match your school. Geralt, I took the liberty of convincing the lady of the lake to give me a silver sword worthy of a master witcher and trust me it was not easy with my track record. It’s yours. And I got one from the tourney. Steel, perfectly crafted. It’s also yours. May or may not be stolen. Regis, this should be almost exactly the same as your old outfit, though less holes, and much less worn.” Cas presented a leather jacket/ robe thing and an undercoat.

“Why, thank you, Cas. I must say, I did not expect this.”

“C’mon everyone, go change. I didn’t haggle with an uppity armorer and dick-bag tailor for no reason.”

*

Bryan was the first to change, his long flowing robe almost reaching the floor. It was dyed yellow, the fir around his shoulders matching his hair. He posed with his swords. “Howdy-doody!”

“Bryan… don’t ever say that again. For my sanity's sake, _please_. It fit?”

“Yeah…” Imara was the second one. The cat armour made her look like a vampiric Syanna.

“Aren’t the diagrams for male armor?” She asked. 

“Yeah. Had to pay the fucker double to make them for a female body.” Dashiell flaunted his new armor in front of Bryan. When Bryan saw Dashiell, their scents flared disgustingly enough for Cas to cover his nose and shoo them up to their room. Thorne fiddled with her armour, pulling the belts tight.

“I’m sure Dettlaff will be too smitten to fight the city now.” Cas joked.

“Shut up!” Thorne whined. Koel climbed down the ladder, . He turned to face Cas.

"What?" He asked, face flushing red under the attention. Cas just smiled, holding his hand out for Koel to grab. Koel laced their fingers together, allowing Cas to pull them into the garden and away from prying eyes. Next out was Regis, looking only slightly different, less ragged at the very least. Thorne and Imara shared a cheeky look and wasted no time in shooing the witcher and vampire back into Geralt’s room. They locked the door and barricaded it.

“Should we like... should we leave?” Asked Imara.

“Yeah probably.” They took the herbs from the table and went to the potions lab underneath the house where the walls were thick enough that they didn’t have to hear what was going on upstairs. The next few hours were spent with Imara teasing Thorne about Dettlaff, Dashiell and Bryan doing... well doing each other, Cas and Koel hiding behind the greenhouse, traumatising staff and local wildlife alike, and Geralt and Regis attempting to find a way out of the room without breaking the door or standing within a meter of the other. They were both avoiding the topic at hand, disregarding any uncomfortable feelings and… sensations. Geralt’s scent was driving Regis slowly insane, but he managed, barely, to keep his fangs to himself. They sat down on either side of the bed, not looking at each other until they heard the distinct soft padding of a witcher around the house.

“Hey! Can you open the door?” Geralt yelled.

“I’ll unlock it but I’d rather not see what you too have been doing in there.” Cas replied. 

“We haven’t been doing anything. Just open the god damn door.” Cas laughed and took the barricade away and unlocked it, letting Geralt and Regis out.

“It smells like sexual tension in there. You sure you don’t need another hour?”

“I’m sure, Cas.” Geralt growled, snatching the key.

“Can’t blame me for looking after your health.” Cas said innocently. Geralt grumbled under his breath and stomped off into the garden to find a cool stream or lake or otherwise unspecified body of water. Regis was still sat on the bed.

“You haven’t told him yet.” Cas stated.

“I haven’t and might never.”

“You should. I highly doubt he’ll reject you.”

“Caßiel. Geralt is heterosexual. He will reject me.” Cas laughed.

“Being straight is an illusion, as is life and an Ignus Fattus’ lair. I believe that I don’t know a single completely straight person. You know why? Because they don’t exist. Besides, how can you know that he will? You haven’t told him yet! You _will_ tell him. Sooner or later. But please make it before doomsday.” Cas left Regis speechless. The young witcher obviously had no patience left for Regis skirting around Geralt. As for Geralt, he heard all of the conversation, as he was not yet out the door. He was just as speechless. Cas walked right by him whispering “You’re welcome.” In his ear

*

“C’mon we’ve only got a few days before doomsday and we can’t let it go to waste!” Said Im, bounding happily to the lady of the lake’s lake. Going for a swim was her idea. Going to this lake was Thorne’s and taking lunch was Bryan’s. The mid walk debate was Dashiell's doing, but Cas sighed as he conceded that perhaps Nilfgaard could be an alright deck. Cas dragged Geralt and Regis along, both reluctant and silently avoiding the situation that was earlier that morning. They got to the lake, its water clear and cold. Everyone dumped their gear on the shore and jumped in. Or waded slowly in if you were Geralt and wary of such frigid temperatures. Cas pushed him, Geralt let out an indignant gasp as he fell into the water, forcing Cas to run for his life. Eventually everyone was in the lake, Dashiell and Thorne were discussing some anime book club thing, that Cas didn't quite understand, and water fighting over the love interests. Bryan was pretending to be a shark, having changed his hair into a fin. This was cunning plan Y. Koel was sunbathing on the island, not wishing to engage with the group just yet. Imara and Cas had an idea to change their corporeal forms to have mermaid tails and gills so they could swim faster, and Geralt and Regis were sitting on the rock in the center of the lake, arguing philosophy.

“Regis! Come join the merfolk squad!” Yelled Cas, splashing Imara with his tail.

“Go on, Regis.” Geralt encouraged.

“If you insist.” Regis dived off he rock, changing mid air, his tail was as black as his eyes. He joined in the fun of underwater tag. And Geralt downed some killer whale to observe their fun, he marveled at how the vampires played underwater. It was amusing, the 400 year old vampire playing with what would be toddlers to him. Once they were tired, Regis swam over to Geralt, wrapping his tail around him and grinning, his fangs showing. Imara and Cas snickered and swam away to mess with Bryan. Geralt stopped kicking as Regis’ tail was holding him up, he put his hand on the tail where it was wrapped around his waist, stroking the newly grown scales. Suddenly, their lips collided as Imara smashed their heads together. She laughed and swam off, Regis angrily chasing after her. Geralt touched his own lips dreamily, and then the realisation that he needed air forced him to swim to the surface. He sat back on the sunny rock, watching the chase scene unfold. Regis caught Imara, picking her up and slamming her into the water. Geralt laughed. For the rest of the afternoon, they pretended it didn’t happen.

*

Back at the house, Geralt and Regis decided that the best way to spend the evening is to get absolutely shit-faced plastered. The rest of the group had the same idea and took some very strong alcohol with them to the nearest field. Regis and Geralt stayed inside. “Pass the bottle.” Geralt said, holding out his hand. They were sitting on the floor in the bedroom.

“Do you ever wonder about your consciousness?”

“No, but I believe I’m about to.” Geralt hummed in thought. “You vampires, your conscious is something completely separate to your body, can exist without form. That alone proves that immaterial beings exist, so do Gods exist?”

“Hmm. Interesting query, Geralt… Astral projecting proves it further, but Gods? I don’t know.” And so began the inevitable arguing of philosophy that happened every time they got drunk together.

*In the field*

“No, I don’t think you can walk on water.” Cas called Bryan out on his bullshit.

“Just watch me!” Bryan leapt onto the lake and promptly failed to walk on it. They all laughed. “I didn’t say I could do it for very long…” He crawled out of the lake. It did not take much for Bryan to get drunk, even with his witcher tolerance. Koel was a happy, babbling drunk and jumped into flowerbeds, talking whoever was near, mostly Cas, into patches of high grass. Though also a passionate drunk, ready to fight you over any debate. This differed from his blood-drunk state, which was surly and angry. He told Bryan to fight him only once. Cas was proud. Thorne was emotional and cried twice over Kurt Cobain. Imara never thought she was drunk enough and kept drinking until she was mildly hallucinating. Dashiell was mildly angry, but only at Bryan’s wet t-shirt. And Cas was, not surprisingly, sleazy. Turning more than one tackle into a flowerbed into something more. Once they couldn’t see straight, they wandered to the nearest village. Imara, Cas, and Koel opted to turn into bats to scare the living crap out of the peasants. Everyone else sat on a roof and laughed as the villagers ran in terror of the fluffy monsters. Then they smelt Orianna approaching and ran off, following the road away from her scent. They came to a bridge and stopped.

“Thhhhoooorrrrrnnnnneeeee! We ‘ave ta clense ya of ya frryness!” Cas slurred. He exchanged a look with Dashiell and Imara and they hauled her off the bridge, tossing her in the water. Thorne was now a wet, angry, emotional, furry. She broke down wailing about how no one would never love her. No one knew what to do. So they Axii’d her to stop crying and made their way to a field near Corvo Bianco. Not their proudest moment as a group. Bryan and Dashiell went to get wood as the rest of the group prepared to build a fire.

"Borange nummer 4 isssss 'appening." Remarked Thorne as she busied herself with unbuttoning her shirt. Back in their old world they had made a midnight ritual called Borange. To appease the fire (Borange) and make him stay away from their tent, house, ect..., they stripped and danced around it until about 3am. This was a Borange night, streaking extravaganza. When 3am came, the lay down to look at the stars, making up bullshit constellations and drinking the rest of the booze. They stumbled back to the house at 4am, thankfully (mostly) clothed, to find Regis and Geralt on the bed, limbs entangled and arguing very loudly about how vampires can evade even the best witcher.

“W’ll ‘oo two ‘r fuck’d.” Slurred Imara as coherently as she could.

“’bsolutely shitfac’d. Disgr – disgru – disgee- I can’t say the word…” Cas laughed. He turned to Koel. “M’by ya magic lips can help?” Koel rolled his eyes and pecked Cas on the mouth. “Disgrac’ul! I di’ it, see?” He was very proud of himself. “R’gis y’r fuck’n p’ss’d.”

“’M not as think as you drunk I am.” Geralt hiccupped in response to Regis’ attempt of speech.

*Earlier*

“R… (hiccup)…Regis I gotta tewl you. Your almost beardy-thing suits you.” Geralt lay in Regis’ lap, reaching his hand up to touch Regis’ muttonchops. Geralt was absolutely shitfaced, and Regis was almost there.

“Thank you, Geralt. Your ponytail is… astounding, really. Look at the way it bounces!” Geralt giggled, though if he knew, he’d deny it. Geralt laughed manically, pausing periodically to hiccup. “What ever is so amusing?”

“You thought I was straight!” Geralt continued laughing.

“You’re not?”

“Of course not! Straight people scare me. Yennefer scares me. She broke up with me, did you hear? She doesn’t like it that I like men.”

“I… I did hear.” Regis put it in his mind to beat the living shit out of Yennefer next time he saw her, though he knew that he'd never do it. It was nice to dream, though. He really should be thanking her for making Geralt available. Geralt booped Regis’ nose, suddenly happy again.

“Your eyes! They’re pretty, did I ever tell you?” Regis blushed at the compliment. Geralt held his face. “I love you.” Regis was taken aback by this. Geralt touched Regis’ hair. “Do you not love me?” Regis realised he’d been silent for a long time.

“I do. I love you, Geralt.” Geralt giggled again and buried his face in Regis’ shirt.

“How come vampires can just disappear and not be found by any witcher?” Asked Geralt, switching the topic absentmindedly. Geralt didn’t remember admitting his love to Regis. But Regis did.

*The next morning*

“FUCK!” Swore Thorne as she sat up in bed, and ran outside to puke.

“Not so loud.” Moaned Imara, covering her face with a pillow. Bryan fell out of bed, taking Dashiell with him as he was wrapped in the covers. They both swore loudly. Cas sat up in bed, only to fall back down when his head was too heavy, and Koel couldn’t decide if he was too hot or too cold. Regis and Geralt were heavily asleep, still wrapped around each other. Geralt was drooling and Regis, snoring. Barnabas- Basil was very unimpressed and glared at Thorne as she walked past him to go back to bed.

"Dieu. The disrespect..." He muttered as he walked outside to clean up.

*Mid afternoon*

“Pass the coffee.” Cas grumbled, holding his head and mildly regretting drinking until he could see unicorns. Regis and Geralt emerged from the witcher's den and sat at the table.

“You look like hammered shit.” Geralt told Cas.

“That’s putting it lightly. I drank until I was fucked six ways to Sunday and seeing Gaunter O’Dimm behind every tree. Besides, you look no better.” Geralt groaned and leaned against Regis’ shoulder. Cas looked at Regis, silently questioning whether he told Geralt. Regis made a ‘kind of’ motion with his hand. Cas sighed in exasperation and sipped his coffee angrily.

“I can’t remember a god damned thing past vampire werewolves.” Geralt realised.

“That was only the second topic.” Regis was surprised. Geralt usually had a very high tolerance for alcohol.

“It’s been a rough week.”

“I don’t remember anything past the hydrangea bush…” Koel frowned.

“Which hydrangea bush? There were like five…” Cas pointed out. “If it makes you feel any better, I can’t remember past scaring the peasants.”

“We scared peasants?” asked Imara. “I don’t remember anything but Jesus over there thinking he can walk on water.”

“I don’t remember anything.” Bryan groaned.

“I don’t remember past vampire vs witcher.” Regis said. They were still all very tired and opted to sleep through this day.

*One day until doomsday*

“Anyone have anything else they want to do before we all die in a vampire massacre?” Asked Cas.

“We’re not going to die.” Geralt argued.

“I’ve been waiting for this god damn day! Fuck yeah!” Thorne yelled excitedly.

“Well if anyone wants to come along, I’m going to go see the gate in the unseen’s lair, maybe fuck with his head a bit. Strike a deal with him see if he can stop Dettlaff.” No one else had anything better to do, so they mounted their horses and took off in the direction of the unseen’s cave.

*

Cas opened the door from the inside, ushering everyone in. They all walked through the dank cave to the unseen’s room. He turned around, glowering at Cas.

“You again?” Cas bowed.

“Zir kures. Ol trian dorpha. Ol iolcam dalagare; cnila.” Cas held up a flask of blood and waited for the unseen to take it. Once he did, Cas walked past him, saying that they would speak later. They walked through one of the tunnels leading off from the main cave, following the glowing orbs hanging from the ceiling.

“We… we’re here.” Cas breathed, letting everyone take in the sight of the gate between worlds. The paths were glowing cobblestone, and the streams flowed up the walls. The gravity obviously changed in places. Regis shed a few tears silently. He had never seen this place before. Bryan ran off to play in the water, dragging Dashiell with him. His sense of occasion was never good. Imara, Thorne, and Koel attempted to run up walls and Regis hugged Geralt tightly in the middle of the place because it was so god damn beautiful. Geralt's shocked face amused Cas to no end. Said young witcher snuck off to find some things and approach the unseen elder, but no one really noticed he was missing.

“I have to speak with you.” Cas said, holding up a precious stone as an offering. The elder took it. “Dettlaff is going to attack the city tomorrow. I need you to stop it on my signal. Can you do that for me?”  
“Why are you so concerned about a few humans? It does not affect us.”

“I used to be human. I guess I still care for them. It isn’t just a few humans, anyhow. It’s an entire city. And as for why we should care? Dettlaff will bring trouble, sooner or later.”

“How?”

“As Khagmar brought trouble before.”

“And I should fear…?”

“Death? No. But that will be the end of your peace, the end of this place. They’ll find a way to destroy Dettlaff and then they’ll come after you, destroy the caves. Destroy the gate.”

“No. This place must be secure.”

“Then do as I say, when I give the signal.”

“I will. Now leave me and take your noisy human friends, mate, and the other vampires.” Cas bowed and walked slowly to collect the others from the cave.

*That night*

They sat in silence at the dinner table. Air heavy with unspoken words. “Well. This is awkward.” Observed Regis.

“You can say that again.”

“Well…”

“I didn’t mean literally.” Geralt was irritable and tired.

“You two go to bed. You look like shit.” Said Cas, also retiring to his nest. Regis and Geralt got up from the table, heading into their room. Regis sat down after getting changed, and fluffed up his pillow. He lay on his side, facing Geralt. He invited Geralt into his arms. The witcher looked at him strangely.

“We always end up like this I figured I’d save us the trouble of moving in the middle of the night.” Geralt shuffled into Regis’ arms and extinguished the candles.

“G’night, Regis.”

“Goodnight, my m…” Regis stopped himself from calling Geralt his mate. “Geralt.” Geralt snuggled closer, sighing contently, he was out like a light. Tomorrow. Thought Regis. I’ll tell him tomorrow.


	8. The Night of Long Fangs

Regis and Geralt walked through the palace gardens and up the stairs on their way to see Anarietta. “Do you think Her Grace’s nerves have been calmed?” Asked Regis.

“Doubt it. Rarely forgets, rarely retracts what she says… especially not threats.”

“Yes… Well, even I must admit Dettlaff’s actions were highly inappropriate, reprehensible, even.” They started ascending a flight of stairs, the braziers burning bright around them, illuminating the darkness of night. “Are you upset?” Asked Regis.

“Why would I be?” They stopped on the landing

“Hmm, let’s see… You’re returning from your hunt empty-handed. No trophy. No new lead to boast of, then pursue.” Regis scratched his chin while he thought. Geralt raised his eyebrow at him.

“Upset’s just not a sensation I feel. Ever. Mutations, remember.” He pointed to his head signalling that he was fucked up because of them.

“Mh, yes, of course. The excuse you resort to whenever you’d rather not talk about something.” Regis reminded Geralt that he knew him better than most.

“Observant of you. So let’s change the subject.” Geralt warned Regis.

“Hm. How… how do your employers customarily react when you fail to meet their expectations?” Regis was genuinely concerned. Geralt sighed.

“Depends. Peasants cuss me out. Merchants demand I refund their deposit. Whereas nobles mostly just release their hounds.”

“And rulers?”

“Usually threaten me with the gallows.” A guard walked up to them.

“Her Most Illustrious Grace awaits the gentlemen.” He motioned for them to follow him.

*

“Your Grace, the population demands she be punished. Syanna’s committed terrible crimes, spilled so much blood. They…”

“Another word, Palmerin, and I shall spill even more blood. Yours.” The duchess threatened. Palmerin was shocked, he opened and closed his mouth, bowing and stepping back. “I repeat for the last time, Syanna is responsible for the death of many, true… but she is also my sister. We are bound by blood and by a shared childhood. I shall not allow her to be lynched.”

“Your Grace, I fear the masses might rise, storm the prison, pitchforks and torches in hand.” Palmerin dared speak up again.

“Let them storm. They will not find her there. Syanna is hidden away, in a safe place… She shall await trial there until we have rid ourselves of this accursed vampire. Which to judge by your means, has not yet come to pass.” She turned on Geralt and Regis.

“Did what we could, but…” Geralt started.

“My patience is at an end, Geralt. Where is he? Where is Dettlaff?”

“Don’t know. I lost his trail.”

“Is this all you have to say?”

“I respect Your Grace. All I can say is the truth.” The duchess sighed at that.

“At times I hunt foxes. Do you know how it works? The Ducal Huntsman releases the hounds. They catch the fox’s scent, chase the animal down, and lead the battue to it – all within an hour. You, witcher, have had a week. The aid of my most excellent knights. Yet you have tracked absolutely nothing down. I’ve begun to suspect my beagles would have done a better job.” She said condescendingly.

“Allow me to point out certain subtle, but essential differences between a higher vampire and a fox, or game in general.” Geralt motioned to Regis as he said ‘vampire’. Regis was dreading the trouble that Geralt had just gotten himself into. Some ladies gasped. Palmerin reached for his sword.

“Truly? Like the ones between a pathetic quip and a treasonous offence? Watch your words, witcher.”

“Your Bitchiness! I am saddened to see that you have proven yourself a dumbass again by not heeding my words of wisdom, but this was bound to happen since most humans tend to have the mental capacity and empathy of a wet rock.” Cas exclaimed, announcing his presence. Palmerin drew his sword.

“You dare!” He thrust his sword through Cas’ neck. Cas looked at him disappointed.

“You are one feisty little bitch, aren’t you Palmerin?” Cas took hold of the sword and threw it to the ground, his neck repairing. “Look, Anna, your dick-bagginess. You have doomed your entire city. A blood bath will occur in a few minutes and you would rather protect a murderer and become one yourself then let your sister, who is the real beast here, the actual murderer, stand trial and be hanged as it says in the law. And before you say that you are the law, no, you’re not. It applies to you, too. And if you can weasel your way out of this one in the human world, you’re still going to stand trial before the unseen, as I see it.”

“You will pay for this, Cassiel.”

“Ag, ol trian ip.” Anarietta’s eyes went blank and emotionless.

“I suppose you’re right. You won’t pay for it.” She shook her head. “But to the matter of hand. “Have you managed to establish anything?”

“Your Grace, it seems Syanna tricked Dettlaff, used him to murder the knights who escorted her into exile. We have reason to believe that…” Regis never got to finish his sentence. A man came stumbling up the stairs, hanging onto life by a thread. He was breathing heavily.

“Your Grace… Vampires!”

“What? Speak, now!” Anarietta was shocked and Cas just huffed, leaning against her.

“Should have listened to me.” Regis crouched down next to the man.

“Vampires… they’ve attacked the city… Captain de la Tour defends the square near the boat landing… but… so many lives lost…” Geralt ran to the railing, and looked over the city.

“Dammit.” Vampires were everywhere, flying, attacking. The smell of blood was clear in the air. Anarietta was crying. Cas slapped her.

“NO! YOU DON’T GET TO CRY! YOU NEED TO LOOK AT THIS! LOOK AT WHAT PAIN AND DEATH, WHAT SUFFERING YOU’VE WROUGHT! IF YOU HAD JUST LISTENED TO ME YOU STUPID FUCKING BITCH! NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED!” He was holding her face in his hands as she sunk to her knees, he was squeezing he cheeks tightly, his nails digging in to her flesh. Regis pulled him away from her.

“Cas, stop.” Anarietta stumbled to her feet and made her way to where Geralt was standing.

“If it’s war this Dettlaff wants, it’s war he shall have. Geralt, get to work. This time I’ll hear no excuses. Palmerin you…”

“Lady, I am this close to throwing you off this balcony, will you shut the fuck up?” Cas was so angry at her now that even though he was repressing the change, his fingers were still growing webbing. A bruxa interrupted them, killing one of the knights and drinking his blood, she tore some of his flesh off to get better access to his jugular.

“Get her out of here.” Geralt ordered Regis to bring the Duchess to safety. Regis took her by the arms and lead her away. Cas and Geralt drew their blades, ready to fight the bruxa.

*

The bruxa lay in a puddle of her own blood as Geralt and Cas sheathed their swords. “Syanna failed to appear as summoned. And… there. Dettlaff was not making idle threats.” Regis announced his arrival.  
“

"Seems not… Need to make some serious plans on own, now. It’s gone too far dammit.”

“Geralt we can plan your wedding after we stop Dettlaff.”

“Cas. Now is not the time.”

“I agree. We all need to survive this before you plan it.” Geralt sighed.

“Regis… you mentioned there was a way to draw Dettlaff out, a way you’ve avoided resorting to so far because you thought it too dangerous.”

“Is that how I put it? Do forgive me, then, I’ve mislead you terribly. The word ‘dangerous’ is simply a scandalous understatement in this case.”

“Regis, another inner monologue growing out of a personal dilemma. Just tell me how to flush Dettlaff out, force him to meet. Please.”

“In due course. But first, Geralt… I’d like you to consider the alternative. After all, you could fulfil Dettlaff’s demand and liberate his beloved Syanna.”

“Think Dettlaff still believes Syanna’s innocent?” Asked Geralt.

“I believe he suspects something. He must. And he seeks to understand what happened.”

“And for that, he’s declared war on the entire duchy?”

“What can I say… Moderation was never his strong suit.”

“Really wanna free Syanna, hand her over to Dettlaff? Refuse to accept you consider that wise.”

“It’s hard to believe, I know, but… Dettlaff is not actually evil, merely impulsive. He needs but meet with her, speak with her… and he will spare the city.”

“No, I’m impulsive. Dettlaff is bat-shit insane and heartbroken. There will be no reasoning with him until he’s calmed down. The second he sees Syanna he will kill her.” Regis looked disappointed at Cas. “But freeing Syanna is the best way to go. I’ve been working on a plan lately, and it will work, I know it will. We need but bring her to Tesham Mutna. I have everyone else working on it at the moment.”

“Mgh. So say I agree to this, ‘cause I might… still no chance Anna Henrietta will.”

“I do not recall ever suggesting we ask her permission.” Regis said slyly. Geralt looked at Cas and Regis.

“This meeting – what if it’s nothing like you say? What if it goes sour… ends in a fight? Willing to guarantee Syanna won’t get hurt?”

“It seems unlikely in the extreme that…”

“Didn’t ask for a lecture on probability. Need a simple answer – yes or no.” Geralt snapped.

“I vow that not a hair on her head shall come to any harm.” Regis said quickly.

“Got serious reservations about this plan… Not least among them – we have no idea where Syanna’s being held. You heard the duchess – she’s not at the prison.”

“Hardly a reservation. More of an excuse. I’m certain you’ll find her, you must merely decide you wish to.”

“Hm. Could ask Damien. Duchess treats him like a lap dog, keeps him close most times. He might know something more.”

“Or you could follow me?” Cas thought this obvious.

“Of course you know where she’s being held.”

“I trust I’ve dispelled your doubts, then?” Regis was hopeful.

“Not so fast. We’re not done talking. How would I go about luring Dettlaff out of hiding – if I wanted to? With the blood of a virgin?”

“You see, the unseen, the one we visited yesterday. One of the oldest and strongest vampires. Toussaint is this Unseen Elder’s territory. All vampires owe him fealty while they’re here. He need but say the word, designate a time and place, and Dettlaff will be forced to appear.”

“So this Unseen Elder – how do we convince him to summon Dettlaff?” Asked Geralt.

“With me. But I don’t see why you’d want to bother him anymore. I’ve already asked him to call off the vampires on my signal. He’ll do it, stop looking at me like that, Regis. I can’t help that I’m more powerful and frightening.” Cas smirked. "Okay so I offered him ten litres of blood... And i may have cast a tiny little spell on him. What was I meant to do?" Regis sighed disapprovingly. Cas sneakily looked at the vial of blood up his sleeve. Almost empty. Well fuck. Couldn't enchant the unseen into shit right now.

“Hm. So I’m basically stuck – either gotta give in to a blackmailer or fight _him_.”

“You know what I would opt for. Should we free Syanna and arrange for her to meet with Dettlaff, there’s a good chance we’ll all survive this ordeal, Dettlaff included.” Regis really wanted Geralt to agree with him.”

“Regis… don’t mean to put you on the spot, but I gotta know – say I do decide to fight Dettlaff, who’ll you stand with?” Geralt walked towards Regis, only stopping when their chests were only centimeters away from touching.

“Should you decide your sword is the sole solution, I shall fight beside you, of course.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Certainly hope so. Now please tell me… what is it you intend to do?”

“Crazy as the plan seems… I’ll do it. Let’s get Syanna. Cas lead the way.”

“You won’t make me beg. I knew you wouldn’t.”

“Slow down. Not promising a thing… Just want to get a feel for the situation to start with. Coming with?”

“Of course. Many hands make light work.”

*In the city*

“Bryan, I swear to god just do your god damned job as a witcher.” Dashiell bit out as this was the seventh vampire he’d had to save Bryan from.

“Why are we stuck on city duty? Why not Thorne?”

“Thorne’s helping Imara set the trap.”

“Koel?”

“Evacuating the city and saving the orphans from the Alpha Garkain. Supposedly...” Dashiell had had to explain this to Bryan so many times he swore if he had to do it one more, he was going to kill him.

*Tesham Mutna*

They lifted the cage into place, concealing it with a bunch of ivy. “That should do it.” Imara placed her hands on her hips, admiring the work. The trap was set, all they needed to do was kill time now. “So, you and Dettlaff?”

“No.” Thorne attempted to shut her down from the get-go. That wasn’t going to work. Imara sighed. 

*The palace*

Regis killed the ekimmara swiftly, not giving it even time to think of hurting Geralt. Geralt tried the door. “Locked… Of course. Regis, rather not have a fistfight with this door. Would you mind…?”

“Not at all.” Regis replied, turning into fog and fitting his way through the keyhole. Geralt opened it to a reformed Regis.

“Thanks.”

“At your service.” Regis bowed low.

“Hmm. Utter silence. No one here. What is this place, Cas?”

“The Ducal nursery.”

“The what now? Why would the duchess keep Syanna in here?”

“It’s the most secure place in the entire palace.”

“Hardly. The ekimmara would have broken the door down had I not killed it.” Regis was skeptical about the whole situation. They made their way up the stairs to the main room. A song was playing.

“Fuck, that’s creepy.” Cas shivered.

“It’s worth looking around.” Regis put the witchers back on task. Geralt examined a wooden duck.

“Wooden duck. Somebody broke it’s wings off.” _Unimportant._ He went over to the music box. “Nice tune.”

“Indeed, pleasant. It’s a shame the mechanism’s damaged.” Regis pointed out.

“I think you both mean insanely creepy.” Cas stopped the music box from playing by throwing it down the stairs.

“Miniature tableware… and plush toys. Cute.” Geralt picked up a stuffed rabbit, turning it over in his hands. He went over to the carpet behind a dresser. “Nothing under the carpet.”

“Did you expect something? Apart from the dust swept under there by a lazy chambermaid?” Sassed Regis.

“A crime before men and gods.” Cas tutted. Geralt picked up a journal.

“What the…? Found a notebook. ‘Property or Isabelle de Roquefort, Court Governess.’ The notes of Syanna and Anna Henrietta’s governess. When they were little.”

“I’m not sure it will help, but I suppose there’s no harm in leafing through them.” Regis decided. He walked closer to Geralt. Cas sat down in one of the chairs. Geralt started to read the entries.

“’Syanna gave me a drawing today…’”

“Charming.” Regis stated.

“’… of freshly decapitated bodes covered in blood.’”

“Perhaps not so much…” Regis changed his opinion. Cas laughed.

“I share her sense of humour, I must say.”

“’I asked her why ever she would draw such a thing. Her Highness claimed it was a rendering of nightmares which have plagued her for as long as she can remember. Syanna does wake up screaming nearly every night, save when she shares a bed with Anarietta.’ Curse of the Black Sun. Supposedly girls afflicted by it had horrible dreams. Kind of horrible that made some of ‘em go mad. ‘The girls quarrelled today. I must note rather sadly they did not act as befits future ladies. The incident devolved into fisticuffs. Anna Henrietta was the first to strike her sister. Syanna gave back as good as she’d gotten. By the time I separated them, Anarietta had lost two teeth. She ran off to complain to her parents… His Grace the Duke refused to believe my version of events. He laid all the blame on Syanna and vowed to punish the little one harshly… Anarietta did her best to have her sister’s sentence commuted, but the Duke proved unbending.’”

“Tsk, tsk Once you’re labelled a black sheep, it’s so hard to shed that reputation.” Regis said sadly.

“’Today I accompanied the girls for the first time to the Land of a Thousand Fables. We spent half the day there. First we played with Thumbelina, then with Barbarossa, who proved quite the charmer for a brigand and pirate.’”

“I’m beginning to suspect Isabelle de Roquefort wrote in her diary after taking a powerful hallucinogenic. Cannabis rudelaris, for instance, or…”

“Shh! Don’t interrupt.” Geralt shushed Regis and Cas chuckled. “’I tip my cap to Master Artorius Vigo for his achievement. He has proved he has no equal in the arcane arts.”

“Wait. Artorius was the court mage here, a specialist in illusions. Which means…”

“Regis, last warning – stop interrupting, or I’ll send you in the corner.”

“Ever the mother figure.” Cas joked.

“That goes for you too, Cas. ‘The girls told me if I ever wished to visit alone, I need but crack open ‘The Land of a Thousand Fables’ and utter out loud the incantation ‘Expecto ludum!’”

“Latin! Ah, finally something that isn’t utter bullshit! It means something like ‘I expect the game.’ or something like that. I didn't do latin in school. Though if you want me to tell you about my pets in German, I can do that.” Cas was very happy to hear something form his world. Regis was scratching his chin. Geralt shushed him.

“A book as the key to an illusion. My, my, this grows more interesting by the minute.”

“’Mages sent by the conclave arrived today. They came to examine Syanna. I cannot know what conclusions they drew, but His Grace now seems clearly upset.’”

“Hm, Curse of the Black Sun – it was no doubt then that she was diagnosed with the syndrome’s symptoms.”

“Or had that label planted on her. It goes on – ‘I dared ask the duke what would become of the girl. He did not reply.’” Cas hissed through his teeth.

“She was in deep shit from the moment she was born.”

“'I tutored the girls in Nilfgaardian today… Syanna applies herself so, though she has great difficulty memorising new vocabulary. Lady Anarietta seems more gifted in this regard, yet also prone to impish behaviour. When she thought me out of earshot, she called me a ‘bloede kusse.’ She and Syanna laughed so hard they almost choked.’ Hmm. ‘Blode’ is ‘damned’ or ‘cursed’. What’s ‘kusse’?”

“In the melodious tongue of out none too friendly neighbours to the south, the word describes the many-petaled flower that blooms in that place we so unmelodiously call the crotch.” Cas chuckled at Regis’ explanation.

“Hm. Realise this may sound improbable, but maybe, just maybe… Anna Henrietta tossed Syanna into that illusion?”

“Not impossible. She would be safe there… and isolated. We must see.”

“I have been waiting for you two to figure that out, Gods. Now I can call off the attack on the city.” Cas stood up and went to talk to Junior, taking the key from behind the painting and tossing it in Geralt’s direction. “You will go alone. You need to listen to Syanna but don’t do everything she says, and don’t get the ribbon for her. Follow the wisps.” Cas went to the window and started talking to Junior. Geralt unlocked the cabinet behind him and took out the book.

“Hmm… This it? Let’s see…” Geralt soon found that the book was locked closed. He used all his strength and finally broke the book’s bonds. “Expecto ludum…” Suddenly the room glowed and Geralt was sucked into the book. Regis went to pick it up, go after him, but Cas blocked his way.

“No. He needs to do this. Alone.” Cas warned. Regis nodded, scepticism clear on his face. He hoped his mate would be okay.


	9. Beyond Hill and Dale

Geralt landed in a luscious, green forest, ferns all around him. But something was missing. “Regis? Regis!” He called for the vampire but he was no where to be found. Geralt sighed, taking his first tentative steps in the illusion. The sun shone on his face, golden beams of warmth. It almost felt real. “Land of a Thousand Fables… Incredible…” A swallow flapped in his face and took off. He looked down at the ground. A golden path. _A yellow brick road?_ “Hm. Let’s see where this road takes me…” He followed it under a bridge to a village of Griggs who giggled and ran from him into their burrow under a tree stump. He followed it over the bridge just to be attacked by an archespore. This startled him but he quickly got his footing and killed it before it could spread. He set back off on his journey.

“Bloody hell, let him out!” He heard a voice.

“He gobbled up my gingerbread. Now it’s my turn to gobble him! Heeheehee!”

“Hm. Voices?” He walked over a bridge and through a gate towards a cottage. The voices were coming from near a furnace. He saw Syanna pulling frantically at the furnace door while a witch cackled. She was an old woman, long hooked nose adorned with a single wart on the tip. _Typical. She'd fit right in with the crones._

“Hands off my hearth, dearie. You wouldn’t want me to get cross.”

“Then you open it!” Syanna demanded. Geralt approached them.

“Now who is this? A lost traveler? You’re not supposed to be here, sweetie. Why, you’re old. Old and pale. But never worry – a bit of butter, a bit of spice, and you’ll make a tasty morsel.” Geralt drew his sword. “Just as soon as I catch you.” And with that, the witch lunged at Geralt.

*

“What… what the hell was that?” Geralt asked, sheathing his silver sword.

“The Wicked Witch. You’ve heard of her, haven’t you? Now where did she put that key…?” Syanna rummaged through the corpse’s pockets.

“Listen, I… How’d you come by a weapon?” Asked Geralt spying the sword at Syanna’s side.

“It’s Prince Charming’s. He no longer needs it. Here it is!” Syanna found the key and hurried over to the furnace, unlocking it. A little boy stumbled out, coughing.

“Thank you. She’d have baked me or certain if you’d not… Syanna? Is that you?!”

“It’s been years, Jack.”

“H-have you come to play?”

“No, I just want your beans. So you can breathe easy.”

“Beans? What beans?” Asked Geralt. No matter where he went he was always out of the god damn loop.

“Ahem. Try not to interrupt. Well, Jack, where are they?”

“Syanna, I… I’m sorry, but… but I haven’t got them!”

“Oh, something tells me you’re lying. Perhaps you wish to play the old games after all, hm? ‘This little piggy went to market, this little piggy went home,’ for instance?” She walked menacingly towards him, talking in an ominous voice.

“I’m telling the truth! I swear it! Anarietta… She ordered them buried all over so you wouldn’t be able to leave!”

“Where?”

“I… I don’t know! But… Joss, the boy with the thing for wolves, he should know! He sticks his nose in everyone’s affairs!”

“He had better know! Because if not, I’ll find you and we’ll have ourselves a little talk, understand? No shoo!” Jack ran off as fast as he could, leaving Geralt and Syanna there. “Agh, all right… So why is it you’re here?” Asked Syanna.

“Searching for my lost childhood. Wound up at Kaer Morhen as a little boy, don’t quite remember how. Never had any toys, never played any games… What do you think? Why might I be here?” She looked at him, silently. “It’s Dettlaff. He’s trying to force Anna Henrietta’s hand. Wants her to release you. Summoned monsters to attack Beauclair.”

“Sounds like Dettlaff, all right… But I doubt you came all this way just to bring me up to speed on current events. So get to the point, please.”

“Isn’t it obvious? Offering to be your ally. We both want you out of here. You, because you want your freedom back. Me, because as soon as you meet with Dettlaff, he’ll put an end to this madness.”

“You exposed me. I landed in prison because of you. Now you come to beg my help, I daresay? My, life is full of surprises, isn’t it? Normally, I’d tell you to sod off. But… from what you say, folk are dying who have nothing to do with this. Not part of the plan. Dettlaff was only to kill those who deserved it. No one else. Fine, witcher… I accept your offer. Consider us allies. Shake on it.” Geralt clasped her hand firmly and shook it. 

“This place… Tell me something more. It’s an illusion, right?”

“Yes. Created by Artorius Vigo. Anna Henrietta and I would come here to play out scenes from our favorite fables.”

“Witch didn’t seem like she was playing.”

“Magical entropy. Without maintenance, the spell gradually disintegrates over time. It grows wild.”

“Your sister chose a dangerous place for your prison…”

“It’s deceptive. Provided I don’t provoke them, the fairytale characters don’t attack me. But you… you don’t belong here. So you had best be on your watch.“ Geralt nodded.

“Since you brought it up… The knights Dettlaff killed – what exactly did they do to you? Crespi, du Lac, la Croix, Peyrac-Peyran?”

“Not a memory I enjoy revisiting, but… I suppose you deserve to know." She sighed. "When my parents disowned me, they ordered those very knights to escort me beyond the duchy’s borders. All did so without uttering a single word in my defence.”

“Like you said, they had their orders…”

“Mhm. But Crespi was not ordered to beat me unconscious with a horsewhip after my first attempt at escape. And du Lac had no instructions to deny me food and abuse me. I learned something then – knights are not so chivalrous when no one’s watching.”

“That… explains a lot.”

“Shocked, aren’t you. You must have thought you had me pegged. Before bothering to hear my side. Everyone does that.”

“Curse of the Black Sun – that’s why you were banished, right?”

“Mhm. Twisted princesses, mutants. I’m certain you’ve heard of us.”

“Even met one of you. Renfri of Creyden.”

“And? Was she truly monstrous?”

“She was cruel, that’s certain. But what caused it – the curse or what she went through… Asking myself to this day.”

“You killed her, didn’t you?”

“Had no choice.”

“Funny. Mum said the same when she tossed me out of the house.” Geralt, not wishing to be pressed into telling Renfri's tale, decided to change the subject to more immediate concerns.

“So… what’s with the beans? Mind explaining?”

“Hm. Certainly. But you must gird yourself with patience. There are two ways out of this land. My darling sister blocked one when she tossed me in here. The other’s up there… in the clouds. She made it hard but not impossible to access by concealing the beans.”

“Still don’t understand…”

“Don’t fret, just listen. That boy… that was Jack. Of the beanstalk fame. You know the tale?”

“Jack… climbed a gigantic beanstalk to a giant’s castle, high up in the clouds…”

“As we shall do if we can just find those blasted beans… There are three – one red, one blue, one yellow.”

“Huh… Stalk won’t sprout from just one?” Geralt adopted Regis’ pondering stance, scratching his chin.

“No, because it must transpire exactly as it did in the tale. Clear now? So, we must find Joss. Perhaps he will be able to help us. You lead.” The witcher failed to see why he should lead considering he doesn't know the place, but started following the yellow brick road anyway. “Joss can usually be found wandering the glade at the foot of the mount. It’s some distance from here, past the witch’s house, to the right. So… what exactly is happening in the city?” She asked.

“Bloodshed, a massacre. Which is why we gotta hurry.”

“You needn’t fret. Time flows differently in the Fablesphere. We can stay here a week, yet outside mere minutes will have passed.” They walked into a ravine with mushrooms sprouting from the walls. Geralt's sensitive ears picked up a disturbance, a magical sound coming from a dark cloud on the ground. Pixies materialised from it and lunged themselves at the witcher. “Watch out! Pixies!” _Yeah, I can see that._ He thought.

*

“Not the friendliest pixies I’ve met.” Geralt huffed.

“They were put here to protect the Fablesphere from intruders. Meaning you.” Geralt sheathed his sword and they quickly made their way out the other end of the ravine and into sunlight again.

“Oh! Unicorns! We must catch them! We won’t have to walk everywhere then.” Syanna exclaimed. “I call the pink one!" She rushed to it and mounted it easily. "Exciting isn’t it? Reminds me of my childhood!”

“Reminds me of something altogether different.” Geralt admitted.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Rather not!” Syanna reminded Geralt of Yennefer in a way, a sense of cold power which did not get dispersed by warm smiles in Syanna as it did in Yen. His chest constricted and he quickly pushed the sorceress out of mind. They rode down the hill to Joss who was being attacked by wolves all the while screaming; “No wolves here! Absolutely no wolves!” Geralt sighed and slew the wolves. This was going to be one long chat.

“Relax. It’s over.” Geralt told the kid.

“No it’s not! There’s more! Another wolf! Behind you!” Geralt turned sharply to look behind him. He felt like an idiot when there was nothing there.

“Ignore him. He always lies.” Syanna sighed.

“Ah ha. Boy who cried wolf. Still does, I suppose. And doesn’t… when they actually appear.”

“The one and only. Listen, you little chit, Jack said you know what’s become of his three beans.”

“I don’t know anything! Not one thing! And besides, watch out! Wolves!”

“This’ll be interesting. Right, let’s get to it. Let’s say for a minute you know what happened to the red bean… where wouldn’t it be?”

“For certain no one swallowed it. Oh no, definitely not that!”

“Of course not. But say someone didn’t, who would it be that didn’t… swallow it?” Syanna picked up on what Geralt was trying to do.

“A human! The most humany human in the Land of a Thousand Fables! Everyone! Woooolves!!! Run!”

“Bet you haven’t heard what happened to the blue bean. Maybe? Not at all? Right?” Geralt tried to coax the information out of him.

“I’ve heard it lies about somewhere, out in the open.”

“Just like that? No one guarding it?”

“Nobody! Three times over! Help! Wooooolves!!!”

“Yellow bean- don’t know a thing about it, right…?”

“Hmm… It’s somewhere very, and I mean very, deep. So deep, in fact, it’s completely underground!”

“And who has it? Hm?” Asked Syanna.

“A bald farmhand, who in no way and not at all, awaits someone. Not in the slightest! Good folk!!! Woooolv…”

“Say that word one more time, and I’ll chop you up! Feed you to the fishes! Understood?” Syanna was at her limit. Joss nodded his head.

“All right. We should go.” Decided Geralt waving to Joss.

“Watch out for wolves!!” He called after them.

“Tough to talk to, that one.” 

“Was it, though? You need merely remember he always lies… Or, more precisely, reverses the truth.” Syanna corrected.

“Mhm. Where to now?”

“I’m not sure… We should visit some of the other fables, the meaty ones, that is. Perhaps then Joss’ hints will make more sense. It’s just a few – Red Riding Hood, piglets and bears – three of each, and Goldilocks, of course. Then Longlocks and a little lass who sells flint.”

“Cas calls Longlocks, ‘Rapunzel’. Apparently it means lettuce.”

“I care not in the slightest what Cas calls her.”  _Impossible to talk to that woman. Bring up an interesting fact and get shot down immediately._

“Ah. Fine. Let’s get to work.” Geralt looked around the Fablesphere. “Incredible… You must have loves this place.”

“I did, at first. But children get bored quickly. Even tea parties whit a whole cackle of princesses eventually turn dull and routine.”

“What’d you do then?”

“Dropped a duck egg in a swan’s nest once. That sort of thing. Stole the pea out from under the princess, who sleeps to this day, I think.” They walked near Rapunzel’s tower. Geralt spotted a will-o’-the-wisp.

“Will-o’-the-wisp… Think it’s got something to show us.”

“Careful. It is not to be trusted.” Geralt followed it anyway, valuing Cas’ advice over Syanna’s. It lead him to a slain knight.

“Knight’s strange. Doesn’t look like he’s out of any fairytale I know. Wonder how he got here.” Geralt picked up the knight’s sword and strapped it to roach the unicorn. He took the armour too.

“In past times, Anarietta and I would occasionally run into them here. You see, knights errant far outnumber princesses in the real world so some knights would sneak into the playroom, then into this land. In search of their fairytale damsels, that’s all.”

“Only to be shredded to bits by a swarm of pixies… Irony’s delicious.” Geralt and Syanna decided to visit the three bears first. They were attacked by pixies only once before they got to the bears. They passed the pied piper along the way.

“Three bears…” Geralt observed.

“Three stools, three beds, three bowls…”

“One a bit too big, the other too small, the third just right.” Geralt walked over to the table, taking some food from a bowl. The bears awoke.

“Someone… someone’s eating from our bowls!” Cried baby bear. They attacked.

*

Geralt sheathed his sword and crouched next to Goldilocks’ mangled corpse. “Blonde curls… Rest of the body’s too mutilated, hard to say anything.”

“She got what she deserved, as I see it. Always took what she wanted without asking.”

“No bean here… Gotta keep looking.” They wandered down the road until they came to Red Riding Hood’s grandma’s house, passing the Emperor from ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’. Geralt tried to talk to him.

“Stunning, are they not? My new robes? Absolutely stunning!” The emperor walked off, leaving it at that.

“Oh, look! The Emperor of Nilfgaard! He’s come out to show off his new robe.” Syanna joked. They walked into the grandma’s cottage’s courtyard to find the Big Bad Wolf passed out in a puddle of his own vomit.

“Hello? Can we talk…” Geralt started. The wolf shushed him.

“Bumbotch, my head… Damn it all, I swear, that was the last time I drank with Redbeard… Oh, Syanna. A bloody long time it’s been. You’ve changed.”

“Whereas you, not at all, Big Bad Wolf. Though it seems you’ve started running with the wrong crowd…”

“And who should I run with, eh? Thumbelina? One shot and she’s under the table. But, but, but… what brings you?”

“You could always have a drink with us.” Geralt offered.

“What? Now? Not on your life. I can barely stand I’m so hungover…”

“You know what they say about the ‘hair of the dog.’”

“Out of the question… And why must you drink? Do you wish to drown some sorrow? And I don’t mean to pry, but… you don’t look like a young duchess to me.”

“They stripped me of my title and birthright, then banished me. A family spat, let’s say.”

“Listen, looking for magic beans. Seen any?” As compelling as Syanna’s story was, Geralt wanted to get back on topic.

“Hmm… I was given one for safekeeping, but…”

“Where is it? Talk!” Syanna yelled.

“Shhh, not so loud!”

“I can be much louder than this. And resort to other means of persuasion.”

“Ah, right there, the threats! Syanna to a T! Listen, I exist to restage a fairytale. If you want to play it, I’ll be happy to oblige… but it won’t be easy. The thing is, Little Red Riding Hood’s popped her clogs.”

“What?” Asked Syanna.

“A thousand times they cut my gut open, filled it full of rocks and drowned me in the river! So once you stopped coming, I decided to repay the little imp for all her loving labor. Hood now rots at the bottom of the well. She and the Hunter. Which means we can’t play, and I’m under no obligation to talk to you. Not about beans nor anything else. So leave me be! Sod off!” The werewolf roared, waving them away. Syanna and Geralt walked out of earshot to talk.

“Hm. Wolf’s pretty cranky…” Geralt observed.

“Surprised? Think about it. He was cast in the role of the nemesis without ever asking for it. It’s a dog’s life, I tell you…”

“So… what now?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll play with him, or rather play him… I just need that little red hood. The piece of apparel, that is. Not the poor girl’s corpse.”

“That’s a relief.”

“You wished to help me? Here’s your chance. Jump in the well and fish it out. Well? Chop chop!” Geralt turned towards the well peering down into its dark abyss.

“All right… time to jump in the well.”

“Break a leg.” Geralt jumped in, cold water filling the space around him. He swum to the bottom of the well, disentangling the hood from the girl’s corpse. The witcehr surfaced momentarily, gasping for air. He duck-dived swimming through an underground tunnel that opened into the river around Rapunzel’s tower, Syanna was waiting for him there. He looked to his left and saw a rooster standing on a cat, who was standing on a dog, who was standing on a donkey. {Known to us in our world as ‘The musicians of Bremen’, in this world it’s ‘The musicians of Blaviken’. Hopefully they have the same statue as we do as it may have watched Geralt's slaughter-fest.} - an extract from Cas' brain. Syanna walked up to the witcher.

“Any luck?”

“Yep. Look what I got.” Geralt whipped out the cloak from his satchel.

“That would never fit you. Give it to me.” Syanna put the wet cloak on. “How do I look?” Geralt was tempted to say ‘with your eyes, Syanna.’ But thought better of it.

“Sorry, don’t know much about fashion.”

“Yes, it shows. Let’s go see the Big Bad Wolf.”

“Lemme guess… you’ll play the granddaughter.”

“Mhm. And you – the hunter.”

*

“You again? I thought I was clear. I will not talk to you if Little Red Riding Hood is not with you!” The wolf, or werewolf, was very annoyed.

“Not a problem. Syanna can take her place.”

“What? Hmph. Very well, it’s not as if I can forbid you… Ahem.” The wolf got into character, putting on a sweet, high, melodious voice and standing up.

“Granddaughter, come closer, sweetie!”

“But grandmamma, what big eyes you have!” Syanna replied.

“The better to see you with, my dear.”

“Granny, what big arms you have!”

“The better to embrace you with, my dear.”

“And grandmamma, what big teeth you have! Eh?” Syanna and Geralt drew their swords.

“The better to eat you with, my dear!” The werewolf roared and lunged at Geralt, slashing him with his claws. To Geralt it was quite amusing, fighting a werewolf that was wearing a bonnet and spectacles, though he was no less tough than any other werewolf.

*

“Remember what Joss said about the red bean. A human has it… and he definitely didn’t swallow it.” Syanna reminded Geralt when the werewolf was dead. Geralt pulled his knife out of it’s sheath.

“Mhm Gotta open his belly.” Geralt opened it and thrust his hand in. “Bottle caps… fake teeth… a corkscrew… Ah, here it is. Red bean.”

“Well then – one step closer to our goal.” Syanna looked drawn back.

“What?” Asked Geralt wondering why Syanna would adopt that stance.

“I find myself wondering if you’re just horribly discreet, or if those mutations completely scrubbed away your curiosity. Are you really not interested in what happened? In what became of me after they cast me out?”

“Well, since you brought it up… I’d gladly hear the rest. Let’s see, they’d escorted you out of the duchy…”

“Yes, and the noble knights of Toussaint and I didn’t stop until we reached the Caed Dhu wilderness. They left me there alone, without a copper, in a torn lace dress. Right when the frosts were setting in. They assumed something would eat me. Or that I’d do everyone a favor and die of hunger. But as always, I failed to live up to their expectations. I wandered the woods for a week, went purple from the cold, gnawed the bark from twigs. Finally, I saw a light among the trees… a campsite. They were bandits. Bearded, drunk, spattered with blood. I was sure they’d rape me or kill me… or both.”

“Take it neither happened.”

“That’s when I learned a robber and a murderer can be a better man than a knight in shining armor. They took me in, we set off for Nazair… and I did what I could to repay them. I advanced in their ranks rather quickly. Eventually I became their leader. Of the whole ragged band.”

“Should have stayed there, maybe.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps I should have forgotten everything, started a new life. But you know what? There came a point when I thought, ‘You wanted a monster? Then a monster you shall get.’”

“Been through a lot.”

“I have. And throughout this time my sister was stomping grapes and shagging minstrels on down bedding.”

“She wasn’t the one to banish you.”

“And I’m not angry at her for that. I’m angry at her because she forgot. About me. Right, we’ve had our chat. Come.” They decided Longlocks was the next target. They approached the tower.

“This Longlocks’ tower?” Asked Geralt.

“Indeed. It’s even taller than I remembered…”

“Wait, what Joss said about the third bean, remember?”

“In the possession of a bald farmhand, somewhere deep beneath the ground… Yes, this must be it. Let’s go. We’d always grapple up her braid in the past, but… I don’t see it anywhere.”

“We’ll find another way up. Could pull myself up here… then I’ll have to make that jump.” Geralt said, looking at the almost demolished stairs that wound around the tower.

“If you say so… I shall wait down here, if it’s all the same. Climbing’s not my strong suit.” He made the jump and almost landed on a prince’s body.

“Prince’s corpse… Tried to free Longlocks, but fell and broke his neck.” _Doesn't bode well for me._ Thought Geralt.

*

Geralt managed to navigate the staircase and make it to the top of the tower. He opened Longlocks’ door only to be greeted with her corpse hanging from the light by her hair. He was swiftly attacked by her wraith who resembled a banshee in more ways than one. He made quick work of her, but took quite some damage himself. He took some swallow, even though the taste was awful. Maybe Regis could find a way to make witcher potions taste better. He finally had time to analyse the scene. “Hanged herself by her own hair…” He said, looking up at Longlocks’ body. He turned to her bed to see the yellow bean on a pillow. “Yellow bean, here it is. Would’ve stunk to climb all that way for nothing.” Geralt went onto her balcony, and looked around. It was more beautiful than Toussaint. He deemed it safe enough to dive off into the lake. He made his way over to Syanna.

“So?”

“Got the bean, but Longlocks… hm. Seems she got tired of waiting for a knight in shining armor.”

“Can you blame her? Men these days… dandies and fops, all.”

“That why you cozied up to a vampire?” Geralt realised how hypocritical that sounded after he said it. Syanna didn’t.

“Dettlaff… was a tool. And only a tool.”

“Too bad he didn’t know that.”

“I trust no one. Learned that long ago. Now it’s his turn.”

“To use him – was that your plan from the start?”

“No. At first I was simply intrigued. Do you know the story?” Geralt shook his head. “It was in Metinna, a few years past. I’d gone there to pass some loot off to a fence I know. We were hashing out the terms, when in walked Dettlaff. He said he’d come to sell a silver candlestick. He gripped it through a cloth. That caught my eye. I followed him out, observed him from a distance… but he caught on quickly.”

“Yeah. Superhuman senses’ll do that.” Geralt spoke from experience. It was virtually impossible to sneak up on Regis. Syanna continued her story.

“He turned down a blind alley. I followed. He jumped out from behind a crate, baring his teeth. I suppose he’d wanted to frighten me… Alas, he didn’t in the least. After all, I’m a monster too, am I not?”

“A higher vampire and you were unimpressed? Don’t know if that’s brave or just plain foolish.”

“I’ve always had a way with ostensibly dangerous quiet types.”

“That supposed to be about me, too?”

“Oh bother – I hate to disappoint you, Geralt but your belly button isn’t the centre of the known world. Though, you do remind me of him a bit – stifling all emotions inside you, ever feigning indifference. You see, when I met Dettlaff, I… somehow I knew – call it intuition – that he meant me no harm. That he was trying to frighten me off for he, too, was scared. Now do you understand?”

“I guess. What happened then?”

“We talked. Then met up – once, twice, three times… enough that he became infatuated. I truly enjoyed it at first. But only at first. He did not love like a man, but like an animal. Madly, deeply, unconditionally. Wildly. To return such a feeling – anyone would be hard pressed… Let alone someone as twisted as I am.”

“So there came a day you just up and disappeared.”

“Yes. There was no other way. ‘Let’s just be friends,’ or ‘I don’t deserve you’ – he’d never have understood that sort of thing. But then, once I’d decided to return, clean up some old affairs… I remembered him. And concluded he could still be of use.”

“Playing with fire, that.”

“Definitely. And either I’ll get burned, or I’ll burn all else down. No other options.”

“Got a history with Dettlaff, now, so this meeting’ll be different. Not afraid?” Asked Geralt.

“I can handle him.”

“Mhm. Sure about that?”

“You look at him as a witcher and see a monster. I… I know what he’s really like. You needn’t worry. It’s time to go. Just a bit more work and we’ll be able to say sod off to this fecking Fablesphere.” They went off to the three little pigs, Geralt thought about what Syanna had said about Dettlaff’s love and a human never being able to return, reciprocate the love that the vampire feels. He had been so worried about Regis not loving him, but if Regis did, would Regis’ love surpass his? How could a witcher love as fiercely as a vampire? He sighed, crossing a bridge to the three little pig’s house. This was not the time to be wallowing in self pity. The brick was cracked and somewhat falling apart. Aard disassembled it rather quickly.

*

Geralt never thought the three little pigs would be so hostile, but their corpses lay on the ground around his feet. He made his way over to the remains of the house and snatched he blue bean of their table. He held it up and walked over to Syanna. “The big bad witcher huffed and puffed… and look. Got a bean.”

“It cannot be!”

“What cannot be?”

“You actually have a sense of humour.”

“Stunted a bit, but yeah, it’s there.”

“Well, well, aren’t you full of surprises. What else are you hiding behind that gruff exterior?”

“Not a bad singer. Do a pretty mean rendition of ‘The Maids of Vivovaro’, for instance… but some other time, maybe.”

“But, here we are chatting away when there’s work to do! The beans won’t plant themselves, you know. Now we want to plant them by the path near Longlocks’ tower… Then prepare to meet the giant. So, do you like it here?” Syanna asked as they were walking to the spot.

“No. Got a problem with magic in general – illusions, portals, all that. Don’t trust any of it.”

“A beau of old-fashioned tastes, eh? I like that.” Geralt ignored her until they got to the place. They were attacked by pixies, but as Geralt already anticipated it, his sword was already drawn. Syanna ran into a ploughed field. “Right, this is the spot. Pull out the beans.” She started digging and Geralt went to put the beans in, she stopped him. “Wait!”

“Why?”

“The stalk will sprout abruptly. Very abruptly. We must be careful.” She ran away and hid behind a stone fence, peering over the top. “All right! Toss them!” Geralt threw them in and dashed behind a sideways wheelbarrow, kicking up dirt as he fled. When nothing happened, Syanna peeked over the fence again. Geralt sighed and walked over to the beans.

“Agh… Something’s always gotta go wr…” The bean stalk sprouted suddenly, sending Geralt flying. Syanna helped him to his feet and they looked up at the beanstalk.

“The home stretch.” Syanna noted, hopeful for once. Geralt pushed her out of the way of a falling bean. They started to climb the beanstalk that reached far up into the clouds.

*

Syanna lay down on the rock at the top of the beanstalk, Geralt put his hands on his knees. “Incredible…” He breathed, taking in the sight of the giant’s castle. The clouds were grey and dark here, and the castle was run down and colourless.  
“Admire the view later. First we must deal with…” The giant roared from the castle gate. “him.”

*

While fighting the giant, Geralt almost fell off the edge into the clouds and to his death a few times. But it was worth it in the end to see the giant’s cold, lifeless body on the ground by his feet. “For a fairytale creature, that was one tough son of a wench…”

“I told you this land had gone ape mad… Though I did not expect it to be so severe.”

“Can’t help thinking you might’ve done that on purpose.”

“Why ever would I have?”

“To get rid of your guard, your captor. Getting close to the exit at this point. Probably think you don’t need me anymore.”

“Well you’re wrong. You still stand to be quite useful to me.”

“That so? How? Plan to use me like you did Dettlaff?”

“No, I need you for a purpose far simpler.” She touched his arm, walking in close to him. He grimaced slightly, taking a step back. “Well don’t just stand there and stare. I need a _man_ , Geralt, and I’m not afraid to say it. I’ve no idea what awaits me once we leave this place. Treat it as my last wish.” She held his hand. He attempted to draw his hand away from her grasp a few times, but she always managed to find it again.

“No. I’m sorry. I… I can’t. I…”

“Why ever not?”

“There’s someone else.” Geralt stated, pulling his hand away from hers again.

“She doesn’t have to know.” Syanna lined her body up against Geralt’s.

“There’s no _she_.”

“What do you mean, there’s no… Oh…” Geralt avoided her eyes.

“Yeah.”

“It’s Regis, isn’t it. I should have guessed by the way you look at him." She stepped back, hands on her hips. "It’s fine. You’re absolutely smitten, aren’t you?” She looked at Geralt in the eye, as if studying him. She walked past him. “Come. The exit’s this way.” Geralt saw another will-o’-the-wisp and followed it, leaving Syanna at the entrance of the castle. He found a silver sword and took that along with the armour in the bag he’d made Yennefer enchant for him to carry a lot of stuff. He walked into the castle courtyard with Syanna.

“Just curious – why’d you want the Heart of Toussaint? And the ducal wine?”

“They were my right. My due.”

“Doubt we would’ve figured you out if you hadn’t tried to get them. Know that, don’t you?”

“I do… and I regret nothing. One lives but once. Here. We need to jump into the well. You first.” Geralt jumped in the well, sick to death of the Fablesphere.

*

Geralt landed in a tumble of limbs and fell onto the floor outside the fountain. Syanna gracefully landed, looking at Geralt in disappointment. “Portal’s in a fountain? Not terribly practical…” Geralt huffed, annoyed.

“It was a secret passage. Anarietta and I would use it to…”

“… hide from your governess. Which luckily she noted down in her diary, thus I knew to await you.” Regis announced his arrival. Geralt flung his arms around the vampire, who was quite taken aback, but returned the hug. In truth, Geralt was subconsciously wiping away Syanna’s scent and covering himself with Regis’. Once they parted, Regis addressed Geralt. “Never mind that… Wait, why are you positively covered in _her_ scent?” Regis turned to Syanna, fire in his eyes.

“Would you believe I tried my damnedest to get him to sleep with me? But he kept refusing. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the mutations stripped him of lust.” Regis was still glaring at her.

“Has the young lady agreed to help clean up the mess she’s made?”

“She has. And stop treating me as if I were a child.” Syanna ordered Regis.

“Would you prefer I treated you like the lying manipulator you are?” Cas laughed at that from the shadow of a tree nearby.

“Syanna, you’ve already run afoul of one vampire… Don’t start a fight with another, all right?”

“Then tell said other vampire to stop taunting me.” Geralt did nothing, just glared at Syanna. “So, you won’t?”

“No.”

“He can do no wrong in your eyes, is that it?” Syanna demanded an explanation. Cas grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her away from Geralt and Regis. He turned around.

“I am sick and tired of this. You two need to talk. Now.” Cas glared at Regis and then at Geralt.

“Let go of me!” Syanna hit Cas.

“I’m the third vampire you’ve run afoul of. Is this a hobby of yours?” Cas smiled, showing of his fangs. “ _Darbs_.” He said and she went limp, he picked her up and placed her on the ground a while away, giving Geralt and Regis space to talk.

*

“So, uhm…” Geralt didn’t know what to say. Regis had vowed to himself last night that he would tell Geralt today. And he would. Just how to put it?

“So. I’m sure you are well aware that there is a small chance one or both of us shall not survive this ordeal.” Regis stated, attempting to start them off. He sat down on a bench, motioning for Geralt to sit down, too. “I have something to tell you that I should have told you quite a while ago.” Geralt didn’t know where this was going and though his rigorous training, his heart sped up without his permission. “I take it you have no notion what happened the other night when you were drunk.”

“I… no. Did… did something happen?”

“My, this is hard to say. I never thought…”

“GODDAMMIT REGIS GET TO THE POINT!” Cas yelled from across the courtyard.

“THEN GIVE US SOME GOD DAMN PRIVACY!” Geralt yelled back. Regis composed himself.

“That night you… you told me… that you… loved me.” Regis said, not looking at Geralt. Geralt’s heart almost stopped, he was mortified. He tried to form words but they just wouldn’t come out.

“So, I need to tell you… Ah. The real words for it elude me. Here. I’ve always maintained that actions speak louder than words at times.” Regis held Geralt’s chin in place and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Geralt was shocked, but not so much that he wouldn’t kiss back. After a while, Regis pulled away. “You’re my mate.” 


	10. Tesham Mutna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter

Regis and Geralt walked hand in hand through the gate of Tesham Mutna, Syanna and Cas following closely behind. The couple broke off to wait near a ruined wall and the other two went to meet the rest of the group. “Nice place.” Geralt said, facing Regis.

“Isn’t it? Offers a lovely view of the valley. On a clear day you can see the outlines of Dun Tynne.” They looked over the valley, and then at each other, slowly bringing themselves in for another kiss. Regis picking up and placing Geralt sit on the ruined wall. The vampire leaned over him.

“Is it though? A ruin like any other, I think.” Syanna ruined the mood and disrupted their kiss. The couple glared at her.

“Ehh, so sensitive, so aware… Honestly, what did Dettlaff ever see in you?” Geralt and Regis walked over to her as Regis asked this.

“Perhaps he’ll tell you himself.”

“You nervous?” Asked Geralt.

“Mhm. It’s always a bit nerve-wracking, meeting an ex. Especially so when said ex is a vampire.”

“I doubt he’ll be in the mood for jests.” Regis pointed out.

“I know. Ugh… May I be honest? Yes, I’m nervous. I really would prefer just to run off. I gave my word I would help, I know, but how much is that worth…? Yet I owe him this meeting. And that is that.”

“Let’s get ready. Dettlaff’ll be here any moment now.” Geralt said.

“Yes he will. Let me tell you of my plan…” Cas announced, perched on one of the walls, Junior on his shoulder.

*

Syanna paced near the gate, deep in thought. Red smoke curled around her legs. “Rhen… Syanna. Syanna… I’ve a question I must ask you.” The fog revealed to her. Syanna's eyes widened, heart pounding a million miles an hour, but Dettlaff was exactly where Cas needed him. “Did you truly feign it all? That which bound us was a ruse…?” He transformed into his form, staring intently at Syanna. The cage fell down around him, trapping him in metal, sealing itself to the metal plate that Dettlaff was standing on. “What is this!” He yelled. He tried to flee, turn into fog, but he couldn’t.

“It’s the cage from the dungeon.” Cas revealed. Dettlaff roared at him. Cas roared back louder. Lots of practice at yelling matches with Lambert. Syanna fled to hide behind Geralt and Regis. “Look here, Dettlaff. I have a plan, that you would not listen to were you able to move. If you were out there you would have attacked and killed Syanna by now, I know this. Now how does this sound? Revenge is not your priority here, she is not your mate, was never your mate, survival is your priority. Had you not killed Syanna you would have attacked Geralt only to be taken out by a very, and I mean very, angry Regis, who would then have to live his life in exile. Do you want this?” Cas looked at Dettlaff in the eyes. Everyone else was silent, Geralt and Regis hadn’t heard the possible endings before.

“No. No I do not want that.”

“Good, you and I are on the same page. So what we are going to do is have a human chop off your head. We will take said head to the duchess, that way Geralt doesn’t go to prison and is allowed in Beauclair, we will then help you regenerate back at Corvo Bianco, out of the duchess’ sight, as she will believe you are dead. This way you are not actually dead and Regis doesn’t get hounded out of Toussaint by other vampires. Syanna will live, in the court, at the duchess’ side, I see this as fitting punishment as court balls belong in the 14th layer of hell.” He turned to Syanna. “You, will not carry out your plan, will not complete the fifth murder, you will forgive Anarietta as she has been looking for you since your parents died and she became duchess. She has sent out _countless_ knights, patrols, criminals, anyone and everyone to find you and bring you home, she had almost given up hope of ever finding you. She didn’t forget about you; she was merely waiting for her time to strike. As much as I hate her entitled guts, she doesn't deserve death.” Silent tears slipped down Syanna's face at this. “Dettlaff, do you agree on these terms? Remember, if you break them, do something out of line, I have more power over you than the Unseen, and I can find you even if you don’t want to be found. So, do you agree?” Dettlaff hummed and Syanna was escorted back to the castle. She was out of sight, and therefore, out of mind. Dettlaff was reluctant to make up his mind. “You loved her, that’s obvious. But the relationship was toxic. She’s not worth dying over.”

“I… I agree. I wished no harm on Regis, but if in revenge I somehow harm him, my brother, then revenge is not worth it in the end.” Dettlaff looked at the ground, slumping his shoulders.

“I knew you would agree, Dettlaff.” Regis confessed, walking forward, Geralt in tow.

*

Dettlaff’s head was swiftly rent from his shoulders by Geralt. Regis held his body up and away from his head, which was still capable of moving as if it were attached, and capable of reattaching if it were near the body. Regis placed Dettlaff’s body near the wall. Dettlaff stood, fiddling with his gloves. Regis made his way over to Geralt who as fixing Dettlaff’s head to a hook. “I trust the Corvo Bianco is an appropriate place to house Dettlaff until he regenerates?”  
“Yeah. Just make sure B.B doesn’t see him.” Geralt said in reply. Regis and Geralt exchanged a kiss in parting and were on their separate ways. Cas went with Regis to aid in the regeneration of Dettlaff, and Geralt went to the palace to hand the head over to the duchess, or rather, throw it at her feet.

*

“Master witcher, I hope you have good news.” The duchess addressed Geralt as he walked into her field of vision.

“Your Grace, the beast’s head, as you wished.” Geralt threw Dettlaff’s head on the ground.

“Good work witcher, you have completed the contract most excellently. You shall receive the promised reward and will be awarded Toussaint’s highest honor; the Order of Vitis Vinifera!”

“I am truly honoured, Your Grace.” Geralt bowed his head.

“Of course now that there is to be a ceremony, and the trial of my sister, Syanna, you will need fitting attire. The treasury will pay for one. You are dismissed.”


	11. Pomp and Strange Circumstance

“My, what a smashing ensemble. You wear it well.” Regis complimented Geralt as he was getting outfitted for the upcoming ceremony.

“Shut up. I look like a twit.” Geralt protested.

“I beg to differ.” Regis said, walking behind Geralt and checking him out.

“The caftan is sewn of the best fabrics available and according to the best tailoring practices.” The tailor was oblivious as to what was going on around him.“But one must have a modicum of taste to appreciate this. Even the most exquisite robes cover only deficiencies in beauty – never in refinement.” The tailor took his needle and began sewing, pushing Geralt’s back to stay straight. Regis didn’t like the tailor touching his mate and it showed clearly on his face. Geralt glared at Regis, telling him that attacking the tailor wasn’t worth it.

“Rather not bicker about taste. Don’t like to. It’s neither interesting nor productive.” Geralt told the tailor.

“This particular witcher has an inborn intolerance for formal occasions. Yet he’s to attend just such an event shortly. I expect that’s the source of his prickliness. So try not to take things personally, master tailor. Rather pity him, for in truth stage fright overwhelms him. He trembles at the thought that he has no notion how to behave in the presence of Her Grace’s majesty.”

“As well he should.” The tailor agreed with Regis. “All that being as it may, Toussaint’s highest honor, the Order of Vitis Vinifera, demands appropriate attire. The duchess cannot be expected to drape a medal on a suit of armor caked in mud. Palace protocol places enormous emphasis on form, virtuous tradition, etiquette…”

“Hmph, a tradition which values appearances ahead of all else, which calls for lordly, glistening triviality and misplaced generosity…” Regis deduced, walking around Geralt again.

“Sound wistful, pensive, Regis. That because they refused to buy you a new outfit?” Geralt asked snarkily.

“Hardly." Regis scoffed. "It’s the tone I ever adopt when I find myself pondering. Which, believe it or not, happens quite a lot.”

“Lighten up, I’m only teasing.” Geralt chuckled. Regis harrumphed.

“Besides, I’ve no need for a new outfit as I shall be attending the ceremony..." He looked at the tailor. "Incognito. I have no desire to speak with the duchess and her vile sister ever again.”

“Why not?”

“Because unlike you, I don’t have to. I shall leave before the trial, begin to pack my belongings. Cas agreed to help move them to Corvo Bianco. I trust you’ll join me later, once you’re richer by a medal and a fascinating new experience?”

“Count on it. Hm, ceremonies, medals honouring virtues… Just keep coming up…”

“I’ve had no reprieve, either. And I keep thinking of the last great virtue – compassion… It’s the one piece of the puzzle that never seemed to fit.”

“Mean you suddenly believe in the Five Virtues theory? After all we’ve revealed?”

“It’s not a question of belief, superstition or old wives’ tales. It’s a conclusion derived through exercising pure logic. Syanna planned everything in advance. Had we not stopped her, surely there’d have been a fifth victim, Cas said it himself. One the gossips would have associated with a lack of compassion.”

“Her plans don’t matter now – can’t act on them. Asked the messenger who delivered my invitation to the ceremony. Syanna’s in the palace. Courtiers pressured the duchess to lock her in a tower.” Geralt said.

“Do you care not a whit who else was in her black book? We’ve some time before the ceremony. We could still chat with that boot-cleaning urchin. He was the one to pass the victim’s names to Dettlaff… Perhaps we missed something?”

“Regis, bootblack didn’t say anything about making deliveries when we talked to him. How do you know he handled the letters?” Geralt inquired, had Regis kept something from him?

“While you basked in glory and tried on new formal wear, I conducted a little investigation of my own. You’d be very proud to see how I conducted myself. I began by concocting an ample sample of boot wash for our enterprising young friend. I’d observed that among street folk, amidst their society as a whole, reciprocity takes precedence over all other codes and thus no good deed goes unrewarded. Of course, the same holds true for malicious or destructive deeds.” Regis had a little smile on his face that made Geralt’s day.

“I’m very proud of you, Regis.” Geralt said sincerely. “The letters – what’s the connection.”

“When the bootblack arrived to collect his bucketful, he hinted he knew more. Simply put, we’d failed to ask the proper questions when we’d chatted earlier. It took a bit more tongue – loosening, but ultimately he spoke. He admitted he’d handed Dettlaff the letters. He knew this information was valuable to me. In providing it, he was simply repaying me.”

“All in all, why not check up on that? We’ll go together – assuming we’re done here?” Geralt addressed the latter half of his sentence to the tailor.

“I am done, yes. It lies in your hands now – to see if you are able to present my handiwork at the ceremony with the dignity it is due. Or if you will first destroy it, crawling about in the city’s underbelly.” Geralt walked to the door with Regis.

“Promise to be careful.”

*

“Ooh, it’s the swordsman. Good to see you, here for a spiffing? Dirty boots are a stain on professional dignity, you know! Step on up!” The bootblack offered.

“Need to ask you something.” Geralt decided that he’d get straight to the point.

“Yet again? Go on then – I’m a proponent of free speech and will gladly tell you all I know. But why not get your boots shined while we jabber?” Geralt looked down at his shoes.

“Guess they could use a spit and polish.”

“Then I shall take advantage as well. A friend of mine used to say boots should be as clean as the souls that wear them.” Geralt and Regis sat down on the bootblack’s chairs.

“Clean boots – clean souls! A fine slogan!” The bootblack nodded and started working on Geralt’s shoes.

“How’s business?” Asked Geralt.

“Well enough, I can’t complain. Though it’d be even better were certain folk to sit down for a shine as they stood and chatted.” Geralt remembered how god damn cheeky this kid was, better to get to the point instead of beating around the bush.

“Man in the frock coat – you passed him some letters. Remember?”

“Why, of course. I’m young, got a mind like a steel trap. But…”

“If you’re about to tell me this information’ll cost me, forget it.” The bootblack shined Geralt’s boots furiously. “How’d you get those letters?” Geralt tried again.

“Beggars brought them.” The bootblack answered.

“Why didn’t you tell us this before, when we first talked?”

“You didn’t ask about beggars, now did you?” Regis snickered at that and sat silently and guiltily trying to contain his laughter when his mate glared at him. Geralt turned back to the bootblack.

“Beggars… tell us more about them? How many were there?”

“Why… four. One for each letter.” The bootblack made his way over to Regis as Geralt stood up.

“Just four? Sure you didn’t get a fifth?”

“I can count, you know.”

“Remember anything else? These beggars have anything in common?”

“What? Come, now, each was different. Some had mismatched boots, others had no boots at all… Oh! I know! They all had no home!”

“Kid, my patience is starting to run a little thin. Now think hard…” Geralt adopted the tone he used on Cas and Ciri when they refused to do work. “Where’d they get the letters? They pick them up, get them from someone?”

“I don’t know. They’d come, hand me a letter and walk away. I asked no questions.”

“Geralt, allow me to ask a question… Listen, lad. I’ll be glad to mix another batch of that boot shine for you…But you must focus now and tell us all you know. Where can we find the beggars?” Regis stood up and knelt down next to the boy, looking him in the eye.

“Well, at the shelter, most like.”

“Where’s that?” Asked Geralt.

“Everyone knows. It’s just ‘round the corner. Up those stairs, then right.” Regis stood up.

“Thanks, kid. For your trouble.” He tossed the bootblack some money. He walked over to Geralt, slightly looking down at him, he was taller, not that it was noticeable, but he'd be damned if he didn't lord it over Geralt from time to time. “We must visit the shelter, look around the inside.” They walked to the door close together, Regis holding it open for Geralt who walked up behind two men harassing the shelter’s owner. One of the people turned to him.

“You – what do you want?”

“To talk.” Answered Geralt plainly. 

“Here that’s a waste of breath! We’ve tried it, only to tire our lips! We’ll use other means of persuasion, now.” The man spat. Regis walked up behind Geralt taking a defensive stance, locking eyes with the man as if to say ‘watch your words’.

“Gentlemen, calm, please…” The owner, an old man, pleaded.

“Either get out along with these flea-ridden vagabonds or we’ll toss you all out! Our patience is gone. This place is no longer a rank refuse dump!” The man turned to the owner.

“Scram! Decent folk live here.” The other man ordered.

“The shelter, them living here – bothers you. Question is why.” Geralt wanted to get a better grasp on the situation.

“Look, Ballard! Another defender of the poor, fighter for justice!”

“Damn nuisance! We’ve our women and young folk living next door, when even grown men fear to walk past such rabble.” The second man explained.

“Decent folk you mention – mean yourselves?”

“Why? Do you doubt it?”

“Hell yes.”

“Hear that, Artois? He poking insults us! On our own turf!” Regis walked around the two men.

“We should step aside, good fellow. Geralt is perfectly capable of settling this unfortunate dispute on his own.” He turned to the two men. “Though I would consider it wise not to bother. What is the logic in starting a fight you can’t win? Besides, if you hurt him in any way, shape, or form. I will find you and kill you, even after he wins this fight.” Regis escorted the elderly man to safety.

*

Geralt managed to subdue them, but got pretty badly beaten up himself. Once he took the first hit, Regis stepped in, taking on the man, lightening the load. Once they were on the ground Geralt threatened them with another beating.

“All right… I can take a hint. Come, time to go.” Geralt and Regis turned to the old man.

“I thank you so much for your aid… I tried to reason with them, but they’d have beat me blue had you not come along. I’m grateful, immensely.” The elderly gentleman addressed the couple. Regis went around behind the man, opting to sit on a chair and let Geralt ask his questions.

“What’d they want from you?”

“They are neighbours, wish me to take my folk, the shelter, elsewhere. They dislike that I help the beggars.” Regis’ expression changed to that of disgust, then of pondering, as if this was a new aspect of human cruelty that he had simply overlooked. “I do not oppose going elsewhere were we to have somewhere to go. But you’ve come with a problem, have you? My turn to aid you.”

“What is this place? Poor house?” Geralt asked.

“You could call it that. They come here to rest and eat a hot meal.”

“You help ‘em why?”

“Because they need help.” That made sense to Geralt, reminded him of something Cas had said a while ago, he couldn’t remember the details but it was something about us all being human and having an obligation to help those in need because if you don’t then who will? The one thing he did remember from that was ‘this world has too many assholes. Be a nice person and that is a reward in itself’. Not that he can say that Cas followed that advice.

“Need some information. Looking for a man who might’ve mentioned the bootblack in the Rue de Garles.”

“The bootblack? A feisty lad, I know him…”

“Any of your… uh, wards supposed to meet him recently or soon?”

“Forgive me, those I help and I are not so close that I would know. But should you wait, they’ll all soon come for their meal. You can question them yourselves.”

“Sure all your usual beggars’ll be here?”

“They’re not obliged to come, of course. But they rarely find a decent meal elsewhere. So almost all in the area eat here.”

“Thanks. We’ll wait. Nice of you to let us.” They all walked inside, Regis and Geralt sitting very close together, but not so close as to raise suspicion. They were well aware that same sex couples were not welcome in most parts of the world. And so they waited.

*A few hours later*

The old man addressed all the beggars in the kitchen as Geralt and Regis walked into the room. “My dears, I’ve a matter to address before I sell the soup. These two gentlemen have some questions of you. Pay attention, answer in brief, for if you draw it out your soup will go cold. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Recently, four of you delivered sealed letters to the bootblack… I know this.” Geralt stated.

“Does anyone know what the gentleman means? Go on, speak up. Romain?” The old man looked pointedly at a beggar.

“Why should I squeal? We were all told not to mention the letters. We all swore.”

“You can tell me, Romain. You were given a letter and you delivered it, right? Good work, Romain. Thank you. Who else?”

“I got one, too. Gave it to the bootblack. And Freshy, he got one. But he can’t tell you as he’s not here.” The beggar in the corner spoke up.

“I still have mine. I’m to deliver it two days after the Feast of Saint Barnabas.” The beggar with his back to Geralt and Regis spoke.

“I need that letter. It’s very important. It’s no use to you anymore.” Geralt said, moving around so he was facing the man.

“But I was to deliver it personally, let no one see it. That is what she said. And she was frightening.”

“You ought to heed folk who are kind and honest. These men helped me a short while ago, helped all of us. If this individual threatened you, you need not keep the promise you made.” The old man spoke words of wisdom to the beggars. The sort of shit that Vesemir used to spout.

“All right… Take it. I didn’t want to see the bootblack anyways. It’s always muddy there…” He handed Geralt the letter.

*

Geralt read it as they walked into the street. “Dammit.”

“What is it? Another name, truly?” Regis was intrigued and excited. Finally, the puzzle would come together.

“See for yourself.” Regis read it over Geralt’s shoulder.

“Well, well… I… I must say even I did not expect this… ‘This time you will see to our duquesa’. It seems we underestimated Syanna rather grossly.” Geralt shook his head in disbelief.

“Judging by this, Dettlaff was literally supposed to tear her heart out…”

“’Yet first you must snap her neck.’ Puzzling.”

“Puzzle complete now?”

“Alas, the matter’s ceased to be a tantalising brainteaser and has turned incredibly grave. We’ve proof of a plot to assassinate Toussaint’s ruler, we’ve proof of a coup d’état.”

“Duchess was to be Dettlaff’s last victim… Syanna planned it from the start.”

“Indeed. The logical conclusion, Geralt.”

“Four seemingly random victims to start, the Virtues their only link. Enough to get folk talking about a righteous, vengeful Beast… Obscured the victims’ links to Syanna. Even as she had those she despised killed off on e by one… leaving the duchess for last.”

“Had she managed to fulfil her plan, none would have questioned the reasons, most would have thought Anna Henrietta had died for her sins. She was known to show a hard heart on many occasions. Ample proof of a lack of compassion.”

“Why would Syanna murder her own sister? Out of envy? To take power? Form an inborn penchant for evil?”

“Yes, yes and yes. All seem likely. And none are mutually exclusive. But if you’d like to know for certain, you could always ask her yourself.”

“Actually love to learn her motives.”

“Praiseworthy, I suppose. Sometimes one should stare evil in the face.”

“Seems a bit strong. No?”

“She used my friend as her tool for killing. I believe I’ve every right to condemn her. But I support your lust for the truth. Some philosophers think empirical examination the sole path to knowledge. I believe you mentioned the duchess keeps Syanna locked up?”

“Courtiers were insisting on a harsher punishment, much harsher. Think Anna Henrietta had to protect her sister from a lynch mob as much as she wanted to protect her subjects from a criminal. One way or another, she’s locked away in a secluded wing of the palace, awaiting trial before a court of law. I’d need to get past some guards to see her. See you at the ceremony?”

“I’ll be there. Not in this form, of course. But look around and you will see me. It seems I’m running short on herbs. I shall fetch some while you talk with Syanna.”

“I’ll see you there then.” Geralt looked around to make sure the street was empty before pulling Regis in for a brief kiss. Regis smiled and pulled away after a moment, laying his hands back on the strap of his satchel and sauntering away.

*

“Halt!” The guard stopped Geralt from entering the room.

“Need to see Syanna. Urgently.”

“In the matter of…?”

“Wanna talk to her. It’s important.”

“Want to talk? Go see your gran at teatime. Not one locked up on the duquessa’s orders. No doing so without special permission. Period.” The guard sassed.

“Found some information important to her case. Need an explanation. Urgently.”

“Agh… fine, then. You’re the witcher who solved the murders, no? Then you’ve my permission. But only for a few minutes.”

“Promise to be brief.” Geralt followed the guard up the stairs to Syanna’s chamber.

“The witcher will speak with the inmate. You can take a momentary break.” The guard told the other guards in the room.

“As long as it’s truly but a moment. Highly irregular, this.” The guards walked off, leaving Geralt in the room with Syanna. She was sitting on the windowsill, staring into he sunset.

“Have you come to see how I fare? I’m fine, thank you. Your little witcher friends got me back, safe and sound.”

“I know who the fifth victim was supposed to be.”

“Goodness, you’re simply a compulsive snoop! I’m in prison. Dettlaff is dead… or good as… Could you not just drop it?”

“Syanna… Stop pretending you couldn’t care less. I know it’s an act - and it’s really starting to wear. Why’d you want to kill her?”

“Tsk, tsk. For such an accomplished investigator to ask about the obvious…? Come, now, Geralt. Why do you think?”  
“Because she turned her back on you. Then banished all memory of you.”

“Bravo, Geralt. Yet another riddle solved – and your sick curiosity sated. Well, what now? Off to share your discovery with Anna Henrietta? She’s no longer in danger, true, but she very well might add a little something to your reward.”

“Definitely gonna tell her. Not necessarily for the coin, though.”

“Then why do it at all?”

“She oughta know. If only ‘cause you’ll probably try to kill her again if she ever lets you out.”

“I probably will.” Geralt walked over to the windowsill and leant against it.

“Perhaps, just for a second, you could stop dwelling on all the wrongs folk’ve done you – and forgive her?”

“Why should I?”

“For old time’s sake. You loved each other, once.”

“Pshh. Please. I don’t know who fed you that rubbish, but…”

“Read your governess’ diary. You played together, were inseparable. Anarietta’d get you in trouble sometimes, sure… But there were also times she stood up for you. When you had nightmares, only she could calm you. Time eats away at memories, distorts them. Sometimes we only remember the good… sometimes only the bad.” Syanna shook her head and went to smash the window, but thought better of it at the last possible second, placing her fist in her lap.

“If she loved me so, why did she wash her hands of me? Forget me? Hm?”

“Cas already told you that night that she didn’t. But if he was wrong and she did, then I don’t know. But you could still ask her instead of sending monsters after her.”

“There’s nothing she could say to change what she did to me, to justify it.”

“Maybe. But there’s nothing out there to justify what you did to her and all of Toussaint. Yet Anna Henrietta hasn’t given up on you.”

“Argh… You really want a happy ending to this story, don’t you? Ahh, with all of us living happily ever after… Go witcher. Or they’ll give your medal away to another. And that would be a shame.”

“Farewell, Syanna.” Geralt walked out of the room, hoping some of Regis’ sophisticated negotiating skills had rubbed off on him at some point, making it more plausible that he’d just convinced Syanna.

“Captain de la Tour would like to see you. Shall we go at once?” Asked the guard.

“Let’s go. Wanna see him, too.”

*

Geralt walked up behind the commander. “Damien.”

“Geralt! It’s about time. Ready for the ceremony?” Damien turned to face Geralt. Geralt was taken aback. Damien had a huge Eskel-esque scar running down his face.

“Your face. Doesn’t look good.”

“I apply a balm of arnica. I hardly feel it anymore.” He scratched absently at the claw marks on his face.

“Got some important information. Anna Henrietta was supposed to be Dettlaff and Syanna’s fifth victim.”

“You are certain of this?”

“Completely. Found proof.”

“Inconceivable. How could she?! The murders, the mayhem she brought down on he city – were they not enough? She sought to strike down her own sister?! Her liege? The traitor. I must alert my men, enlarge the duchess’ honor guard, make certain Sylvia Anna is closely watched during the questioning. I’ll see to it personally. I thank you, witcher. For alerting me. And I appreciate your attentiveness. Let’s begin the ceremony. Come with me. The duchess awaits.”

*

Geralt approached the pergola where the duchess was waiting. Geralt looked around and spotted Regis who was invisible, apart from a small puff of fog hidden partially in the shadows. The duchess was hearing the pleas of a man from the city. “In the guild’s name, I beg your assistance, Your Enlightened Highness. Without barrels, production will come to a stop, and it will be the end of us.”

“You lost them all in he fire? These are horrible tidings. We are most dreadfully saddened.”

“Yes, Your Enlightened Highness, all. Once the beasts had clawed their way into the warehouse, the whole place went up in flames.”

“I shall dispatch a palace guardsman to examine the site of the blaze. If things are as you say, fitting compensation shall be paid from the ducal treasury.”

“Thank you, Your Enlightened Highness.” The man walked away.

“Your Grace. Geralt of Rivia has arrived.” Damien announced Geralt’s presence.

“My dear subjects! We come now to our next point of business. Of all the duties which fall upon my shoulders as the ruler of this dominion, this duty is dearest to my heart. For now, we shall award he Order of Vitis Vinifera, Toussaint’s highest honor.” Geralt was suddenly jumpy, though no one could really tell, but he lost control of his heartbeat and he looked around rapidly. Regis decided to step in, calm Geralt. He became completely invisible fog and basically wrapped Geralt in a blanket of himself. Geralt’s subconscious sensed Regis and calmed down dramatically as Geralt breathed in his mate’s scent.

“Geralt of Rivia, slayer of the Beast of Beauclair, step forth.” Geralt stood where he was, still acutely aware of Regis. “Ahem!” Geralt stepped forward, Regis coming with him.“We bestow the distinction upon the witcher who saved Beauclair from the terrible Beast. Such is our desire.” Anarietta spoke, placing the badge on Geralt’s chest, narrowly missing Regis. “May this symbol serve as a reminder to all that the witcher shall forever remain a friend of Beauclair.” The duchess sipped from her chalice and handed it back to a knight. “In more familiar terms, now, I thank you immensely, Geralt. Damien has a reward for you. After all, it was but a contract.” Geralt took the pouch of coins. He weighed it in his had to be roughly 5000 crowns.

“Thank you.”

“I’ve a small surprise for you in addition. I give you more than a dozen barrels of Sangreal, a wine normally reserved for the ducal table. The gustatory experience of a lifetime awaits! Are you content?”

“Feels like a…. second distinction, I’m honored. Thank you.”

“I trust you shall make good use of it. In a moment I shall speak to Syanna. Will you assist me? You returned my sister to me, yet you also showed me her horrendous deeds. As head of state, I must judge her fairly. But she is my sister, thus my heart bleeds for her…”

“If my presence will help in any manner, of course I’ll stay.” Geralt shivered as Regis left him to his defenses and positively reeking of him. Geralt tried to ignore it as he was in the presence of the duchess.

“We shall now question a person implicated in the murders which recently ravaged our fair city of Beauclair. Captain de la Tour, show Sylvia Anna in.” Syanna walked up to the pergola, standing at the entrance closest to the palace.

“The witcher will take part in our talk?” She asked.

“The duchess requested I be present.”

“You have committed crimes, grave crimes. Yet you are my sister and my heart does not allow me to treat you as a common criminal. Thus I have asked Geralt to advise me, as one impartial. I shall now hear what he has to say.”

“Bitterness consumes Syanna. She had cause to resent many of the court of Beauclair. I know her reasons, understand them, even. But I can’t condone the actions she chose to take.”

“What is he talking about, Syanna?”

“You know exactly what! I was forcibly exiled, remember? To your benefit. You knew well the throne would then be yours, though I was the elder! The ministers I can understand. They’d hated me since I was a child, thought me a poor prospect for the wife of a duke. I even understand our parents. I’d always sensed the problem – they simply feared me! For I dared be free! That fabricated curse, it fell into their laps, a gift from above that brought relief. But you?! Your dagger hurt most. You were my Anarietta, dammit! My darling little sister! Now do you understand, witcher? She betrayed me!”

“Claim to understand them all? Why’d you come back for revenge? Have them all cut down, then?”

“They deserved my vengeance! They detested me, all of them, as long as I can remember! But Anarietta understood me. Once. She was all I could cling to… Her betrayal hurt the most.”

“You were children, then. You and your sister both. Had no control over what happened.” Geralt pointed out.

“You’re wrong, witcher. She had control. Remember, dear sister, the day they banished me from the palace? Of course, I’d had the idea to pelt the Nilfgaardian envoy with fish bladders… which we filled with rancid suet on a lark. And which you set afire at the last. To impress me, I imagine. And I admit you did. Hit him right in his hideous bald patch! Never laughed so hard in my life… But when it came time to find the culprit, you said not a word. I took all the blame and all the punishment.”

“It’s true… I did not stand up for you. I was too afraid…”

“The council was unanimous. They listed all my offences – my flights from the palace, supposed acts of cruelty, ‘inappropriate’ friendships… They cast me out… But you! The only one to understand me… you cowered in a corner, lifted not a finger to help. Not before, not after. You never tried to find me.”

“That’s not true. I searched for you! Sent out knights, gathered tidings from without… You did not wish to be found. Since the day you vanished, I have lived with the knowledge that I failed you. I’m sorry, dear sister… Can you forgive me?” Anarietta opened her arms, offering a hug. Syanna turned away and Anarietta tried to get her to turn, touched her on the shoulder. Syanna shrugged her off. Anarietta touched her other shoulder, only to be shrugged off again. An idea struck the duchess and she tickled Syanna, forcing her to turn around. Syanna’s face softened as Anarietta embraced her, she hesitated but found it within herself to return the hug. The sisters were happy for the first time in a long time. Geralt was left pondering if Syanna had completely forgotten or just written off what Cas had said about Anarietta trying to find her. For once he couldn’t be fucked asking.


	12. Be it Ever so Humble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas finally gets pulled up on his childish behaviour, Ciri gets a girlfriend, Regis and Geralt are properly together. Dettlaff still doesn't have a head though.

Geralt swilled the alcohol around in his glass and tilted it to lips. He took a long swig and sighed. “All in all, best part of the whole ceremony? It was short.”

“Perhaps for you, as you ducked out early. The others are probably just getting started. The drunkenness never ends in this quaint realm…” Regis reasoned.

“Not so fond of Toussaint after all, are we?”

“Ah, this place is like a strong wine, Geralt. Good in small sips.” He sighed. They stared down into their glasses in a comfortable silence. They could here a commotion from the crypt, but figured it was Cas dropping more books than he can carry. The air was quiet around them with only the frogs to break the silence. Fireflies flew lazily through the air, giving the place a magical glow that reminded Geralt of the fairy tale land.

“Beauclair seems safe now. Though I’m still left wondering – I mean, Dettlaff’s alive. Think Anna Henrietta’s still in danger?” Geralt awkwardly broke the silence.

“No. He had a score to settle with Syanna, but I believe we talked some sense into him. Nonetheless, he’s rather harmless without a head. Once it grows back, he has no reason to remain in Beauclair any longer.”

“Sure hope so.” Geralt huffed. “Though in his boots, I’d regret having to go. Place is just plain beautiful, dammit.” They stared up into the starry sky. Clouds drifted, framing the white speckled sky. Picturesque.

 

*Some time later*

 

Regis sniffed the contents of his cup. “Mmm, supreme bouquet. Firm, defined beginning, then develops gently, rising to a startling finish. Don’t you agree?” Geralt snorted into his cup.

“Not much of a connoisseur…”

“Then it is high time you started your education. After all, the Corvo Bianco Vineyard is now yours.”

“Why would I start my education when I have you here to do it for me?” Geralt quipped, setting his glass down on the ground. Regis chuckled.

“And what makes you think I’m going to perform your duties in your stead?” Regis asked flirtatiously. Geralt stood up and walked over to Regis’ log. He straddled Regis’s lap and nipped at his neck.

“Guess I’m just going to have to convince you.” Geralt purred. The vampire huffed.

“You’re doing a remarkable job already. Keep this up and you’ll have me doing your witcherly duties as well.” Geralt huffed a laugh onto Regis’ neck. It was worth a try.

*Elsewhere*

Cas let the books drop in a pile on the floor of Regis and Geralt’s room. Organising them was not high enough on the priority list to do now. He wandered into the kitchen where he stopped dead in his tracks. It was 3am. Everyone in the house was asleep. And here we have Marlene frantically cooking and muttering to herself over the cauldron.  
“Uhh, Marlene?” Cas asked quietly. A shriek akin to a banshee tore out of Marlene’s throat. “Are... Uhm… Are you okay?”

“Yes. It has been a long night I must go to bed. Yes, to bed.” She looked more rattled walking out of the kitchen than she had muttering to herself. Cas sighed. She was a weird one. He went to follow her outside and make sure she was okay when a knocking on the door averted him from his plan.

“Bain Caßiel Piripsol, you are under arrest for treason.” Cas sighed and went to the door.

“Take me away, boys.” He winked at one of the soldiers. “Looks like I deserved it.” The guard promptly knocked him out with the hilt of his sword.

 

*Meanwhile in the basement*

  
Dettlaff twiddled his thumbs. He couldn’t wait to grow his head back.

 

*At the cemetery*

  
The grass was soft under Geralt’s back as he rolled into Regis’ side. Regis revelled in Geralt’s warm breath on his neck for a minute, staring up into the dark night sky. Toussaint really was beautiful. “Have you thought what you’ll do with your prize? Shall you hang your swords over the mantle and take to pruning vines?” He asked. Geralt sighed and leant up on one elbow, looking him in the eye.

“Know what?” Geralt lay back down and placed his head back on Regis’ chest. “Think I just might.” Regis chucked, chest rising and falling much to Geralt’s annoyance. “Come on, don’t laugh. Maybe not today, or tomorrow… But one day I’ll wanna see what it’s like – to just wake up everyday in my own bed.”

“Oh, stop, please. Sounds so sentimental my fangs have begun to hurt. Then what? Will you begin writing your memoirs, like Dandelion?” Geralt snorted.

“Think he’s already done it for me. Capitalised on it too... Ahh… I so don’t feel like going anywhere. Lay here a while longer?”

“So we shall, my mate. We have witnessed – and, in fact, on several occasions incited – many great and weighty events. After all that toil, I believe we deserve a bit of a rest.”

“That we do.” Geralt looked off into the distance and swore for a second he could hear a million screams. He ignored it. “I never asked. Mates. What’s it mean? Really?” Regis sighed.

“Mates are… Life bound and predetermined. I can never explain how you find a mate; you will just know. Mates are bound for life. If one mate dies, then so does the other. Though in lifespan if one mate happens to be human, they will live only as long as the vampiric mate, saving many a vampire a great deal of grief.” Geralt hummed. His eyelids felt heavy and he had resigned to sleep when a shrill shriek pierced the air. Geralt reasoned that it was a raven but couldn’t be stuffed to move. He felt Regis lift his arm up for the bird. Regis appeared to be listening for a while and then he nodded his head. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Thank you Junior.” She cawed and promptly fucked off. _Good riddance._ Geralt huffed.

“What’d she say?” He asked, not opening his eyes.

“I’ll give you one guess.” This is not the time for guessing games, Regis.

“Cas has run off into the forest with Koel to do blood again _or_ Corvo Bianco is on fire.” Geralt mumbled into Regis’s chest.

“That was two guesses, neither of which are correct. Cas has been arrested for treason against the duchy.” Geralt chuckled.

“Not surprised. Just wait until they try to hang him. Maybe he’ll learn a lesson in respect then.”

*In the prison*

“This blows!” Cas yelled from his cell. He fiddled with the cuff around his wrist. It was made of the same metal as the cage they captured Dettlaff in. In other words: no misting. He was stuck, trapped in this prison with rat shit on the floor, bad food, rapists and the like. He slid down the wall and sat his chin on his knee. “This _really_ blows, doesn’t it Stefan?” The rat just looked at him weirdly and scurried across the floor.

*In the basement of Corvo Bianco*

  
_Any day now. Aaaaannnny day now._ Dettlaff was still waiting for his head to grow back.

*Corvo Bianco a few weeks and a lot of torture later*

  
Geralt walked leisurely back to the house with Cas tailing after him. “I told you she only wanted an apology. Was it really so hard?” Cas groaned.

“YES!”

“You’re behaving like a toddler.”

“I am a toddler.” Geralt chuckled.

“I’m beginning to see that.” They approached a very stressed Barnabas-Basil pacing between the door and the fence. He saw them and rushed over.

“Master witcher! Some unknown individual barged into the residence. I resisted as best I could, but to no avail.” He seemed extremely flustered, even wiping his brow with a pristine white handkerchief.

“Who is it?” Asked Geralt monotonously.

“Alas, they did not do me the basic courtesy of introducing themselves!” Geralt walked up to the door stealthily with Cas still dragging his feet behind him. Geralt rolled his eyes at the younger witcher and pushed the door open, sneaking inside. He sniffed the air.

“What’s that smell?” Cas shrugged and covered his nose. Geralt slowly ventured further into the house. He noticed a fair amount of books and other belongings scattered throughout the dining hall. He peered around the last corner into the smaller dinning room and was greeted by a pleasant sight.

“SHE WOLF!” Cas yelled as he attacked his younger sister with a bear hug.

“Cas, ribs. RIBS!” She yelled he crushed her.

“Sorry. Glad to see you is all.” She stepped away from him and turned to her father.

“You look good. Come, don’t just stand there. I want a hug.” They engaged in a much gentler hug than she and Cas had shared. They parted and Geralt look down to where a severed monster head lay.

“What did you bring?”

“A garkain from Angren. I slew it. All by my lonesome.” She said proudly.

“That why you left Carreras so suddenly…? Had no idea where you’d gone. Your note was… puzzling - ‘Don’t try to find me.’ Threw me for a loop.”

“That was silly. It’s just that I felt… stifled, in your shadow, I’d have suffocated had I stayed. So when I read the notice, the contract… when I saw Angren, I knew I had to do it. Alone. Without my nanny.”

“I’m not your nanny. I believe in you.” Ciri smiled warmly at Geralt.

“Yes, that’s all well and good, and I’m proud of you, Ciri, but… Did you cure this properly because I think I saw an eyeball halfway up the hallway…” Ciri sighed.

“Yes, I cured it properly. That eyeball was from a water hag. Haven’t cured that yet.” Cas leapt away from the flyblown head next to his feet. He scurried to pick it up.

“Wtf! We don’t bring these in the house, you know that!” She chuckled as Cas made a swift retreat. She heard the bald man scream. _Nice._

“Like my new house?” Asked Geralt.

“The house is lovely… but it could use a bit of work.” She suggested.

“Yeah… got plans for it, don’t worry. Wanna go outside? Could show you the grounds.” She nodded enthusiastically and they made their way outside. Regis waved to them from the herb garden and Geralt blew a kiss back. Ciri raised an eyebrow at him, but continued on. They approached the tree overlooking the estate. Ciri sat down and was immediately winded by a person falling from the tree.

“AGH!” She looked down at the witcher in her lap. This witcher was… female?

“Fuck…” The witcher groaned and rolled off her. She opened her eyes and stared at Ciri. A blush creeped up her face. “Fuck…” She whispered. Imara could feel her small, bisexual heart beat at 100 kilometres an hour. There was laughing from the tree as Ciri pulled the witcher to her feet. Ciri ignored them.

“Are you okay?” The witcher stuttered for a bit.

“Yes. I am now – yes.” Ciri giggled at this poor attempt to speak.

“I’m Ciri.” She stuck out her hand to shake the witcher’s.

“I… know… I’m Imara.” She shook her hand a bit longer than normal and then suddenly realised what she’d done, and pulled her hand away. Imara chuckled self concisely. Realisation cleared Ciri’s eyes.

“Imara! I know about you! Cas told me so much!” She wrapped Imara in a hug.

“Aw yeah group hug!” Said Bryan, walking forward.

“No.” Ciri said. Bryan looked sad and moped away. Thorne could tell, even from the tree that Bryan would have torn them apart. Despite his own boyfriend, he was still crushing on Imara. It made her slightly sick. Geralt looked on as all the witchers jumped down from the tree and sat around the bottom of it. He sighed and joined them. Might as well ask Ciri how witchering is going.

*In the basement*

  
Cas dropped the water hag head into a barrel. _Disgusting_. A shiver went down his spine. He turned to walk out and was greeted with the gruesome sight of a headless Dettlaff. He screamed.  
“Fuck, I’m sorry man. Don’t sneak up on me like that.” Dettlaff was silent. “I guess this is gonna be a one sided conversation since you have no mouth to speak of.” Cas chuckled as his own joke, found it wasn’t funny and cleared his throat. “So how long was it since Regis aided your healing? Just hold up your fingers for hours.” Dettlaff held up all his fingers. “Right. So I guess I could help If you want.” Dettlaff shot him a thumbs up sign and sat down. “So what do I just pour blood on your wound or?” Another thumbs up. “Okay then.” Cas slit his wrist and let the blood drip onto Dettlaff’s wound. “Now I’m gonna apologise for everything that I did to you. I’ve had some time – in prison – to think about my actions, and I was… mean? I believe. I was caught up in the stress of the situation and acted out. Unfortunately, that affected you… and your head. I yelled when I was trying to be diplomatic and comforting and I’m truly very sorry for how I treated you.” Dettlaff side hugged Cas’ leg. He took that as forgiveness.

*Later that night*

  
“Remember that time we actually argued if doing a ghost is necrophilia?” Asked Cas. The group nodded in mutual remembrance.

“It isn’t.” Thorne stated.

“Yes, but if you do a corpse with a spirit in it, is it necrophilia?” Asked Bryan.

“YES!” Imara yelled. They shuffled on the roof until their legs hung off the side.

“Okay, but if a spirit is possessing someone else and the spirit says its okay, then is it necrophilia?” Asked Thorne.

“No, but it is rape because the other soul didn’t consent.” Cas reasoned.

“Why are you talking about this?” Dashiell asked, disgusted. Koel shared his look. A chuckle passed through the group. The debate persevered until Ciri walked past down in the courtyard. Imara made that high pitched sound she makes whenever she sees a pretty girl; the gay sound™. Everyone snickered as Imara’s face went the shade of a tomato.

“CIRI!” Cas yelled. Imara grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing?” She whispered angrily.

“Getting you a girlfriend.” He whispered back. She scrambled to cover his mouth with her hand. “CIRI!”

"Koel control your mate." Imara urged. Koel just snickered, shaking his head.

“YEAH!” Ciri yelled back. She looked a little confused at the scuffle on the roof.

“WANNA GO OUT WITH IMARA?” He yelled and Imara hid behind Thorne.

“YEAH!” She yelled again, winking up at Imara who was timidly peaking out from behind Thorne.

“COOL!” Cas yelled back, giving her a thumbs up and sitting back down. Imara flopped down on the roof and let out a tense sigh. Wow. There was a yell from the house and B.B ran out.

“Caught them fucking.” They all agreed in unison.

“Since we won’t be going inside any time soon, let me tell you what happened to me after the portal. And no, Bryan, you don’t have a choice.” Cas announced as they all formed a story circle. He cleared his throat. “So there I was- “


End file.
